


you could be the death of me

by Cheesybiscuit



Series: you could be the death of me (Cold War AU) [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Americans, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Catra has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (She-Ra), Cold War, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, FBI, Fluff and Angst, Glimmer and Bow are too pure, Human AU, I swear there's a happy ending, Idiots in Love, It's the 80s, KGB, Let Catra (She-Ra) Say Fuck, Lots of Angst, Mentions of homophobia, New chapters on Wednesdays!, POV Adora (She-Ra), POV Catra (She-Ra), Sexual Content, Some plot points from The Americans, Spies & Secret Agents, The FBI is extremely bad, Useless Lesbians, Washington D.C., a surprising amount of plot, like kind of a lot of plot it's spy stuff it's cool, planned out, scenes of graphic violence in chapters 5 and 17, they're spies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 101,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheesybiscuit/pseuds/Cheesybiscuit
Summary: Catra is a deep undercover KGB operative in the United States, and Adora is an FBI agent. It’s Washington D.C. and the height of the Cold War. Adora moves in right across the street from Catra. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: you could be the death of me (Cold War AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119683
Comments: 851
Kudos: 723





	1. start

**Author's Note:**

> This AU popped into my head fully formed a while back, and I knew I had to get it down on the virtual page. This is based on The Americans, which is an excellent show that everyone should watch. The story is pre-planned and will have regular updates. Any feedback is much appreciated, please leave a comment with your thoughts if you're so inclined.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Title from Death of Me by PVRIS

**_Catra_ **

It’s been a long night. A quiet night, populated with patience. Catra has her back against a brick wall in an alley, which offers a slight reprieve from the dry chill of November. She’s been waiting a long time now. Maybe too long.

It’s late, around 11? 11:15? She checks her watch.

Shit.

It’s 11:17. He was supposed to show two minutes ago.

To most people, two minutes wouldn’t be a big deal. The thought makes her chuckle slightly. Catra isn’t most people, and in her line of work, two minutes usually means someone is dead.

She points a small personal flashlight at a window on the second floor of the building across the way, flashes it once. There’s a rustle in the window as the curtains wave in response. Her partner noticed too.

Their target is a congressional aide; he was supposed to be dropped off at 11:15 sharp, where they’d proceed to intercept him. He knows something about an upcoming foreign policy vote, which Catra doesn’t particularly care about. Hell, it seems like everyone in this fucking town is just a few degrees of separation from some political bigshot. People like this are a dime a dozen here.

She _does_ care that he’s not here yet. Something must be wrong.

It’s 11:18 now, and a car pulls up. She instantly notes that it’s not the make or model their intelligence reported it would be, but it has government plates all the same. This must be it.

A man steps out, and it’s him. This is Catra’s cue to come around the corner and ask him for directions, maybe where to find D.C.’s subway. She’ll bat her eyes and distract him just long enough to knock the man out.

She rounds the corner and makes her way toward him, but stops dead in her tracks. The aide is stiff as a board, and looks nervous. Why does he look nervous?

Alarm bells go off in her head. This is _wrong._

Instincts take over, and she hugs the wall and ducks.

The distinctive _whizz_ of a bullet cuts through the air just above her head and hits the brick with a dense _thud_ , perfectly audible in the clammy split-second of silence that follows. And then all hell breaks loose.

Catra can make out the sound of shattering glass, voices barking orders, the slam of a car door. 

She feels more than hears additional bullets pelt the wall just beside her, and she’s running, _running._

It’s entirely too much, an overwhelming wall of confusion that rolls over her even as she forces down her panic. 

Footfalls on the sidewalk. Towards her? Away from her?

She doesn’t know. Her own feet have instinctively carried her back into the alley, and she’s running for her life.

Fuck. _Fuck!_

How did this go so wrong?

She hoists herself over a low wall and into another alley, heartbeat finally catching up to her well-honed instincts and racing mind. She vaults over a downed trash can.

The only sounds now are her heavy breathing and the slap of her feet against concrete, the fight behind her gone in the blur of her mind. She scrambles up a half-deployed fire escape.

She doesn’t slow down for even a second, jumping down to the street once she’s crossed over a fence and sprinting her way to her car.

She nearly slams into the side of it when she arrives, fumbles with the key. _C’mon, unlock!_ The key turns, and Catra practically dives inside. The engine starts up and she’s gone.

* * *

The next day, Catra is relaxing at home. Or at least, she’s trying to. She can’t get her mind off of last night’s mission, how it could have gone so spectacularly wrong…

She’s not too bothered about getting shot at and having to run for her life. That she’s been trained to handle.

No, what’s tugging at her now is who knew about it. Who knew about their mission to intercept the aide?

It had to have been someone…

She hasn’t had a mission go sideways like that in.. _years_ , probably. She’s the best for a reason.

Catra lifts her gaze from a spot on the kitchen floor, turning her attention to what she’s been cooking. She isn’t surprised to see whatever it is boiling over. Her brain’s not exactly the sharpest at the moment, and her handler knows it too. It’s why she’s been ordered to lay low today.

“Shit,” she mutters, reaching to turn off the burner. 

Oh well, it’s not like she was hungry anyway. When’s the last time she ate?

She racks her brain and comes up with the answer _yesterday, at breakfast._

With a sigh, she sets aside her failed cooking.

She distracts herself with a glance out the window, and is surprised by what she sees.

A moving van.

A moving van across the street. Catra vaguely remembers the home opposite hers has been empty for some time, never quite selling.

She’s curious now about who could be moving in. She hadn’t even seen any realtors, had she? Not that she’d notice.

The view through the window fades slightly, replaced with a dull reflection of herself as her eyes unfocus. She’s thinner these days, with permanent dark spots under her eyes that she hides with makeup. Her freckles are a weak attempt at liveliness across her faintly lined face.

Jesus, _lines?_

Actual lines on her face?

Catra supposes they’re a good match for her twin spots of graying hair, just behind her ears and barely visible. They’re recent discoveries that she guesses are due to the enormous stress of her job and her _life._ Still, graying at 31? Fuck.

More to derail her mind than anything, she finds herself drifting toward the front door. Americans greet new neighbors enthusiastically, don’t they? She plasters on a smile and swaps her vacant stare for eyes that dance with practiced playfulness. She slips on some shoes and takes a deep breath. Time to meet the neighbors.

* * *

Catra’s halfway across the street when she notices her.

A blonde woman, emerging from the back of the van holding three large boxes. Her arms ripple with well-defined muscle as she carries them up the drive and sets them down near the door of the house.

On her way back, she notices Catra.

Catra reaches the van and leans against it, crosses her arms.

“Hey.” she says simply, meeting the stranger’s eyes. They’re blue… or gray. Catra can’t decide.

“Hey yourself,” replies the woman, a small smile on her lips. Lips that look quite soft, Catra notices.

Catra walks forward a pace, hand extended.

“Catra,” she says. “I live across the way.”

The woman’s gaze shoots past Catra’s to land on the house behind her, then back to her face.

She moves forward to meet Catra’s hand, and says with a polite smile, “Adora. Adora Gray. Nice to meet you ma’am.”

Their hands stay connected for a split second longer than necessary, and Catra gives Adora a once-over.

Worn jeans and an old t-shirt are all Adora wears, despite the chill of the day. Catra’s not complaining though; the sleeves are tucked in to form a makeshift tank top, and it shows off Adora’s arms quite nicely. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail, and her pretty face almost seems to glow in the sunlight.

_Focus, Catra._

“Are you…?” Catra trails off, unsure how to ask if Adora is moving in or just the hired help.

“Yeah I am!” Adora says brightly. “Moving in here, that’s what you were going to ask, right?”

Catra gives a nod and Adora smiles. It’s a nice sight.

“What brings you out here, Adora?”

“Work. They’ve finally stopped moving me all over the place. It’ll be nice to at least settle down in one spot for a while. What about you, how long you been here?”

Catra has no problem reciting her own history, despite the fact that it’s fabricated.

“Moved in back in ‘78, and I’ve been here ever since. It’s a quiet neighborhood, and I enjoy it.”

Catra supposes it’s not a total lie. She _did_ get here in 1978. Just not the way most folks think.

Adora smiles again. “Glad to hear it. Well, I’ll see you around then?”

“Sure will. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

With a small wave, Catra turns to walk back to her house, but something makes her pause. She should be a little friendlier, put in some effort on this. It’ll be smart to know her new neighbor better, might even be able to form some early trust. She squeezes her eyes shut and then turns around again.

“Actually, Adora,” Catra begins, unsure of where she’s headed.

Adora looks up from another box, eyes bright.

Fuck, her eyes look nice in the sunlight.

“I was thinking, you probably don’t have a whole lot set up just yet. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? We could chat and you could get a decent meal instead of some takeout like I’m willing to bet you were gonna order.”

She quirks her lips into a smile she hopes is inviting.

“That… would honestly be so nice, are you sure?” Adora is quick to respond. Catra must have been right on the money with the takeout.

“Of course, it’s no trouble. Why don’t you drop by around six? I’ll leave you to it till then.” She eyes the boxes and Adora’s toned arms once again.

Adora gives a grateful look. “Sounds great, thank you Catra!”

“Don’t mention it.” She gestures with her head to Adora’s new house, and says “Nice place.”

She walks back to her own house now, confident in this. Never hurts to gain a neighbor’s trust, and who can resist free food?

It isn’t until she gets inside and shuts the door behind her that she really lets herself think about this. Trust is all it was about, right? She couldn’t have offered this invitation for selfish reasons, like getting to see that glowing face or those arms again? Hmm. Catra guesses those are perks. The advantage of nipping a potential nosey neighbor in the bud is worth it. She’s got a mission, after all.

Her mind analyzes the little she knows about Adora Gray even as her hands get to work on dinner. This is a good opportunity to force herself to eat, if nothing else. She’ll need to keep up her strength in the coming days.

* * *

Adora arrives at 6:01, announcing herself with three small taps to the front door.

Catra swings open the door to see a cleaned up Adora. She’s put on some nicer pants and is wearing a pleasantly red blazer. Her hair’s done up in a simple bun rather than the utilitarian ponytail of earlier in the day.

She looks amazing.

Catra ushers Adora inside with a smile and a “Hello,” and takes a wine bottle from her hands.

Why do Americans insist on so many gifts?

Adora looks a little hesitant, but she has a pleased look on her face when she smells the dinner Catra’s cooked up.

“Oh, wow. It smells great!”

“Ah, whatever,” Catra waves away the compliment with a small smile, and offers to take Adora’s blazer. Her guest slips it off and is left in a sharp blouse that’s unbuttoned enough to give a nice view of her collarbone, if one was to look...

_Fucking focus, Catra._

“C’mon, sit down,” Catra points to a seat in her dining room just off the small foyer. “I hope you’re hungry. Is chicken alright?”

She’s prepared a simple but enjoyable recipe she was taught as part of her extensive training, years ago. It seems everyone here has a taste for chicken, no matter how it’s served.

“Oh, absolutely! Honestly, I’m starving after all those boxes.”

Catra goes to the kitchen and comes out with a green salad, places it on the table as she takes her own seat. She holds up Adora’s wine bottle in a non-verbal question, and Adora nods.

“Just you out there? No help?” Catra raises an eyebrow, clearly asking something else.

“Nah, I don’t need it. Besides, it’s just gonna be me.”

Catra files that away. Why is she in a house like that and not an apartment?

She serves up a plate and sets in front of Adora.

“Oh yeah? Girl like you isn’t married?” Catra allows a small teasing edge into her voice, intends it to be playful.

Adora blushes ever so slightly.

“No ma’am. I’ve uh. Never quite gotten around to that. Work keeps me on my toes, you know.”

She meets Catra’s eyes for a moment with an unreadable expression. Hmm.

Catra decides to press on that just a little.

“Oh yeah? And what sort of work does a woman like you find herself in?”

Adora’s reply comes quickly, accompanied by a small but proud smile.

“Counterintelligence. I’m an FBI agent.”


	2. be my villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra deals with difficult news. Adora goes for a midnight stroll. They're both disasters.

**_Catra_ **

“Counterintelligence. I’m an FBI agent.”

Catra’s stomach drops.

_No._

_No no no._

Her face remains interested and playful, years of training kicking into gear and taking over for Catra’s faltering emotions and overwhelmed thoughts.

“Is that so? You seem pretty proud of that.” She delivers the line with a slight smile, catching Adora’s eye.

_Fuck._

_They know._

_She’s here to kill me._

A million thoughts race through her head, and distantly she hears Adora respond, sees her humble expression.

“I mean, yeah, a little. I… didn’t have much growing up, see, and I’ve always loved helping people. It just feels like the right thing to do. Feels good to say out loud, you know?”

Adora stares for just a moment into the middle distance, and her eyes flash with something. Is that… _doubt?_

The sliver of Catra that’s still analyzing Adora as a KGB officer notices this look, a look that can’t have been on Adora’s face for more than half a second. But Catra’s good at reading people. It’s one of the skills she was recruited for.

The majority of her brain is being consumed in panic, a panic that will never reach her eyes, won’t show on her face or sound in her voice. Might not even make her heart rate spike all that much. Her body knows how to handle this stress for her. Her mind, though...

_You have to kill her now._

_Before it’s too late._

This particular idea, one in a string of thoughts that are bouncing around her skull, does make it to her eyes. Does show on her face. Makes her brow furrow almost imperceptibly, the smallest of actions, impossible to notice, but still a crack in her armor.

_Fuck._

“Hmm, I know what you mean. Like you’re contributing something useful to this world. I think that’s admirable of you.”

Adora blushes again, this time a little more obvious.

“Thank you,” she says to Catra, a little breathy.

Despite the situation, that detail still makes it through to Catra’s brain, and is catalogued away to unpack later. That, and about a dozen other things she’s noticed today. She’s let her gaze wander a little too much as is. What the hell is she thinking?

This… is a complicated situation. She knows that.

Shit.

In just a matter of hours, this total stranger, this _woman_ , has marched into her life and completely upended it.

Catra’s brain, somehow, is already starting its descent to more reasonable thoughts, mere moments after her shock. She really is a professional. The best of the fucking best.

She doesn’t have time to run down the full list of thoughts in her head, that could take _years_. But she can quickly strike through a few of them.

If the FBI knew who Catra was, if they were really aware that there was a KGB agent _this_ close to Washington D.C., she would already be dead. If they suspected her in their background check that she’s sure they conducted before Adora moved in, she would know. Her house would have been stormed by a SWAT team already, and she'd have been abducted in her sleep, tortured and shot.

If Adora was here to kill Catra, well… but it’s the same as before. They wouldn’t send this woman to do it, it would already be done.

As for the thought of killing Adora, of course not. She could never risk bringing that kind of attention to herself in her own home, her own neighborhood. There’s a reason she’s been here seven years with no suspicion. She’s good. She’s _better_ than that.

No, this has to be a coincidence. There’s _no_ way it’s anything else. Ridiculous? Yes. Scary? Definitely. But Catra can’t see any other options that make sense right now. She can’t do anything about it in the immediate future, either. She should let this play this out, stay calm and cool like she’s already doing, at least on the outside. She’ll ride out whatever this is and gather her thoughts later.

And besides…

Before that little bombshell, Catra actually found herself enjoying Adora’s company. She runs through all of this in about a second, and gives Adora a smile.

She cuts off a piece of chicken and takes a bite, giving her face something to do and letting a comfortable silence hang in the air for a moment.

After a beat, Adora asks, “So, what about you? Do you work in the city?” She takes a sip of wine and looks at Catra over the glass, genuinely curious about the answer.

Catra prepares more of her cover story for Adora, and doesn’t hesitate when she answers, “I’m a freelance journalist. I do odd jobs here and there, pick up whatever I can, really. Sometimes I’m in the city, there’s plenty of opportunities for stories or pictures there. I’m always doing research.”

Adora’s face brightens, and she leans forward slightly.

“Oh, wow! That’s awesome! What kind of stories do you do?”

Despite herself, and her subsiding panic, Catra finds herself effortlessly slipping into her cover. She begins explaining her work, and Adora is truly interested, her eyes lighting up when she learns something new. It’s easy, and not just because Catra’s practiced in this.

Before she knows it, the evening has slipped away, and their meal is over.

Adora has asked some good questions, not just about her work, but about how Catra feels about it. There’s a particularly good one about what it’s like to be a woman in the field. Her questions are… thoughtful.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and Adora glances at a clock that hangs nearby, gives Catra a small smile.

“It’s getting a little late, and I still have a few things to take care of at the house before I can get to sleep tonight…”

Catra picks up on her polite exit, knows Adora must be telling the truth.

“Yeah, of course. I should let you get back to it.”

“Alright then. Thank you again for dinner, it was really great. I’m glad you invited me, it’s.. honestly nice knowing someone in the neighborhood now. I think I’m gonna fit in just fine.”

They stand now, move towards Catra’s front door.

Catra agrees with a hum and a smile, and goes to find Adora’s blazer.

She hands over the red piece of clothing, and as Adora tugs it on, Catra crosses her arms again, stands a few feet away. Her guarded stance is a little obvious despite her mostly calmed and compartmentalized brain. She hopes it comes across a little more reserved than scared.

Adora opens the door and turns around to Catra, that grateful look back on her face.

“Goodnight Catra. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around,” Catra confirms.

Adora sets off into the cold night, and Catra closes the door. She sinks to the floor, exhausted. She makes no noise, betrays nothing with her body, but has her back against her door, and hugs her knees to herself.

_Fuck._

* * *

**_Adora_ **

Adora crosses the street swiftly, shivering briefly in the cold, more out of habit than anything. The cold never bothers her all that much, her body seems to handle it better than most. She quickly reaches the door to her brand new house, pulls out the key, and finds her way inside. In the foyer, nearly identical to Catra’s, she turns around and puts her back to the door, lets herself slide down until she’s sitting. She takes her head in her hands.

_Wow._

A small giggle escapes her lips, and she can’t help it.

Her new neighbor is certainly something.

She’s… well, she’s _gorgeous_.

Her wavy brown hair, and those _eyes_ , my god. She’s heard of people with two different colored eyes before, but has never seen it in person. And certainly not on someone like _that_.

Adora knows her flirting was obvious, but she had tried to hold back at the end a little.

She’d noticed a ring on Catra's hand.

There were no signs of anyone else in the house though, not even any indication that someone besides Catra lived there. Huh.

Adora always was headstrong.

She stands up and goes to her bedroom, where there’s a bed set up, but nothing else. Boxes line the walls in a few neat stacks, and she remembers her dresser is in the living room for now. She slips out of her blazer and remembers with a blush how Catra had looked at her…

_No, stop that._

_This is your brand new neighbor, who you just met_ today _._

_Your incredibly hot neighbor, who is married._

Adora lets herself think about that while she starts to move a nightstand down the hall and into her bedroom.

Her mind wanders a little to other details too.

Catra is a freelance journalist, an unusual career for a woman like that, a woman so young.

Catra lives in a house that’s quite spacious, even for two.

Of course, Adora is one to talk. She now occupies this house on her own, though she knows it’s because the Bureau wanted somewhere for her that was more isolated than an apartment, somewhere that would be easier to conduct background checks on neighbors, less coming and going. It also offers a little privacy from the job, being just outside the city. Adora is grateful for that.

Still, how did Catra end up in a house like this on a journalist’s salary?

 _Maybe her husband works an important job,_ she has to remind herself. Lots of folks commute to D.C.

Husband.

She turns over the word in her mouth, remembers what Catra said earlier that evening.

_Girl like you isn’t married?_

Adora usually hates that question. There’s a good reason she isn’t married, and at 32 it should really be obvious. Despite herself, she gets the idea that Catra asked the question and already knew the answer.

It isn’t long before she’s got her dresser in the bedroom as well, and she’s rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse.

Tomorrow has been set aside for her to finish up her move and to settle in, and she knows she needs her rest.

She changes into something comfortable for sleeping, and sets about her various nighttime rituals.

Adora’s in her bed before she knows it, a single flat pillow underneath her head.

She feels herself drifting off, vague thoughts of the beautiful stranger in the house across from hers dancing in her head.

Sleep is almost upon her, her mind quieting...

Her eyes suddenly shoot open.

She’s fully awake, shocked out of her drowsiness by a stray thought that had crossed her always busy brain, somewhere in the background.

No.

Oh no.

She’s not going to sleep tonight, is she?

* * *

Adora wakes the next morning at 6 A.M, her alarm clock rousing her with a familiar buzz.

She groans into her pillow, sleep threatening to take her again immediately.

She sits up and rubs her eyes to keep that from happening.

She’s not sure when she finally fell asleep, though she knows it was long after midnight.

A little whimper comes out of her mouth.

Her sleep schedule is so screwed.

She swings out of bed and goes to her dresser, remembers basically all of her clothes are in boxes, and then begins messily unpacking them to find her workout gear.

She’s triumphant, pulling out a ratty pair of sneakers from underneath a stray picture frame, and finds her shorts and shirt underneath.

She tugs it all on, grabs her key, and goes outside into the brisk morning. Light is barely peeking up over the horizon, which means she’ll have a good view for her morning run. A few stretches later, and she’s off.

Adora has maybe 6 miles to go today, figures it’ll give her time to think. Time she desperately needs.

She’d been rudely interrupted last night by a lingering thought, the ghost of an idea, tugging at her from afar. But the tug was getting stronger by the moment.

While at dinner last night, Adora had noticed several things. Catra’s unusual job, the fairly large house for just one or two, no husband in sight. 

She replays their meeting earlier the day before, remembers Catra’s strong grip on her hand as they shook. Noticed Catra’s tired look, her small spots of greying hair as she turned around.

Little things, that should mean absolutely nothing.

But they’re pulling…

_Stop it!_

This is silly. She’s not even sure where her mind is trying to lead her. Her observation skills are good, but are they _that_ good? She doesn’t think so.

Catra seemed nice enough. A little tired, sure, but she’s normal.

 _But what if she's_...

What?

Her brain can't even say it, can't fill in the information that Adora dreads most.

Adora keeps running, trying to shake the doubt from the back of her mind.

* * *

Adora finds herself going through the rest of her day a bit methodically. She showers after her run, goes to the store for some basic groceries, and makes a late breakfast of eggs and toast.

She’s spent the day unpacking her boxes, moving some furniture around to where it’ll hopefully stay put (she’s not sure, maybe the couch should be _there_ instead?). By mid-afternoon, she’s exhausted. Her lack of sleep has caught up to her surprisingly quickly.

Through it all, her mind has been trying desperately to connect dots she’s not sure are there.

Maybe she’s a little zealous to be starting her new job tomorrow? Well, new-ish.

She’s worked in counterintelligence in general for about two years now, though her new station is permanently in D.C., as part of a squad that will investigate potential KGB activity in the area. She knows there was supposed to be a big operation a night ago, maybe she’ll hear about it when she gets in tomorrow.

So maybe it’s that she’s eager to get started… or maybe it isn’t.

Adora’s been at this for a long time.

A lot longer than someone her age normally would.

She started off so sure of what she was doing, young and full of love for her country, grateful for her big break in life.

But lately, that’s started to shift. She was recruited in 1971, but it’s 1985 now.

Wow, has it really been 14 years?

The last few years in particular have been different. She was never all that fond of President Reagan, but recently…

_Don't. You can't think about that right now. Focus._

So maybe it isn’t over-enthusiasm about her job. But instincts are instincts, and she’s got a weird feeling. That much is for sure. Maybe she’ll go see if Catra is home now, ask a few innocuous questions just to ease her mind. Maybe get her to laugh too, if she’s lucky. But the questions are the priority. Of course they are.

She gets up from her spot on the couch, heading into the kitchen for some water.

She downs the glass, and moves towards the door.

She stops suddenly, and rushes into the bathroom. She’s got to redo her ponytail, she tells herself. There are a few flyaways that’ll get in her eyes. And while she’s in there, it can’t hurt to throw on a dab of makeup, can it?

* * *

She’s flirting already.

_Dammit._

She mentally slaps herself and lets her gaze wander from Catra's eyes to her hand, where that ring is sitting, taunting her.

_Right. I should not be doing this._

Vaguely, she notes that there’s nobody else home, once again. Hmm. Absent husband?

Catra’s acting differently today. She doesn’t smile as often, and her eyes look even more tired, if possible.

That’s… not great for Adora’s weird, unnamed suspicions. Her brain kicks into a higher gear now.

They’re sitting in Catra’s living room, talking about things to do in the area. Catra has some good recommendations for food that Adora notes she’d like to try later. But really, this conversation isn’t helping things. She’s looking at Catra’s freckles a little too much, and her brain is in overdrive now with tiny, useless details she still can’t place.

She has to get out of here before she does something really stupid.

Polite as always, she excuses herself and says she has to go make dinner, and Catra gives a small nod.

“Alright, then maybe we could catch up this weekend? See how you’re settling in?” Catra asks, making Adora stop fidgeting for a moment. Explicitly laying out the possibility of seeing each other again is intriguing.

Her stomach twinges slightly, feeling funny.

Oh boy.

“Sounds good to me. Should be in for an interesting week at the office.”

She’s at the door now, and as she leaves Catra calls out, “Get those Russians for me, yeah?”

Adora turns around and makes a finger gun at Catra, complete with a little click from her mouth.

She turns around and heads to her house, face bright red.

Oh _god._

* * *

She’s made it through dinner, cooking something basic she doesn’t even remember now. She’s got too many nerves. She’s laying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Much like the night before.

She checks her alarm clock, and it’s 2:39 A.M. Yikes.

Adora turns over and closes her eyes, thinking perhaps these silly thoughts will leave if she scrunches up her face enough. It isn’t working.

With a sigh, she sits up, totally awake.

“Okay, alright.” she grumbles. This isn’t a good idea.

She changes into some clothes suitable for moving in, something black. This won’t end well.

She’s at the door, pulling on some shoes. This will backfire.

She’s out the door, moving silently across the street. Truly a terrible plan.

She approaches Catra’s house slowly, very slowly, noting that there’s no lights on. Catra’s got to be asleep. She moves to the garage door, finds the little silver handle with a lock, and brings out a few tools. Adora hesitates for only a moment before slotting a pick into the basic lock, wiggling it a bit and putting in another tool, feeling for the right spot. There’s a small _click_ and the handle is turning. She lifts the garage door as silently as she’s able to, preparing to move quickly.

She passes by what must be Catra’s car, making a beeline to the door into the house. She’s wearing gloves already, and twists the handle slowly, ensuring it’s silent.

She’s inside Catra’s house for the third time. No lights, no noises. Catra really must be asleep.

Adora isn’t entirely sure what she’s looking for. She’s got out a small flashlight that helps her navigate through the house. She moves down the hallway, towards areas she hasn’t gotten a chance to see. Her practiced footfalls are silent in the resting house. Halfway down the hall, she pauses. Something catches her eye.

It’s a framed picture, hung on the wall.

In it, she sees a much younger version of Catra. She’s probably in her early 20s. Catra is standing on a beach next to a man, arm threaded through his. Her head is thrown back a little in a laugh, and it’s a beautiful sight.

The man by her side is taller, has short, dark hair, and kind eyes. He’s looking at Catra with a loving expression, maybe having just told the joke that has Catra looking so carefree.

Adora's breath catches in her throat.

She takes a step back.

This is Catra’s husband.

Adora stands for a moment in the hallway, right in front of the picture, completely silent and unmoving. And then she walks back the way she came. She should _not_ be here, this is crossing so many lines. She has to get out, _now._

She moves as fast as she’s able to without making noise, taking care to close the door into the garage all the way until she hears it faintly click into place.

She passes Catra’s car again, taking care not to bump into the large shelf set up by the wall of the garage. She’s outside, turns around to close the garage again.

Her strong arms lower it silently, and as she faces the back of Catra’s car, she notes the Virginia license plate. The garage door is down, the handle sliding into place. Adora scurries back to her house, ashamed.

Stupid, _stupid!_

What kind of hunch was that?

This was wrong. She shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have crossed this line…

But at least now she can drop these horrible thoughts, these suspicions. Can focus on much more important things. That, at least, makes Adora breathe easy. Thoughts of shame and relief follow her the whole way to her house and into her bed again.

 _Bad idea,_ she tells herself.

 _I told you so_ , she says right back. She snorts and buries her head in the pillow.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra stands in her garage long after Adora leaves. Her weapon is still drawn, and she’s positioned just behind a freestanding shelf.

She lowers her gun, finally. Flips the safety and heaves a sigh.

Adora was here.

Adora was in her house.

An _FBI_ _agent_ was in her house.

And this clearly wasn't an operation, Adora wasn't even armed. This was personal. When she left, she had an odd look of shame on her face.

Catra supposes it could have been a hunch, unsupported and nagging at Adora. Catra's had hunches like that before. Plus, that look in Adora’s eyes, like she’d crossed a boundary. Was kind enough to have a boundary...

Catra reigns in that thought and holsters her pistol. She moves out from behind the shelf, thinking idly that she was prepared to do it. Prepared to shoot Adora right there, had she seen something in her eyes.

Prepared in theory.

But Catra does wonder.

Could she have actually pulled the trigger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was so quick, but it was mostly written and I wanted to round out the opening chapters and really have it all set up. The next one might take a few days, but again, this fic is pre-planned and updates should be frequent. Stay tuned, and enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated.


	3. under my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora starts her new job. Catra blinks. 80s fashion reigns supreme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain some sexual content, though nothing explicit.
> 
> Enjoy chapter 3!

**_Catra_ **

The next morning, Catra wakes up at 7 A.M.

She’s gotten three hours of sleep.

She knows Adora starts work today, and she wants to memorize her schedule. It’ll help her avoid running into Adora should she be on any assignments.

Catra drags herself out of bed and into her kitchen, where she starts up a pot of coffee. She’s not really one for breakfast, but she at least needs _something_ in her system. The familiar bubbling and dripping sounds begin after a few moments, and she stalks off to change into some actual clothes.

When she gets back, the pot is only about a third full, and she needs to kill some time. Against her will, her eyes slide up the cupboard, up to the very top. She knows what’s up there, and knows she shouldn’t. It’s been so long without them, but the last two days have placed more stress on Catra than the entire previous year…

She reaches up, stands on her tiptoes to do it, and her hand curls around it. She pulls down a little box of flimsy cardboard, and flips it open to reveal about a dozen cigarettes.

She stares at them.

Catra grabs one and puts it in her mouth. She reaches for a lighter but goes still when it’s actually in her hand. She stays like that for a long time. A cigarette in her mouth, unlit, a lighter in her hand, arm limp. Does she really need this?

It’s about a minute before she builds up the courage to drop the cigarette from her lips and smash it underneath her heel. She’s not in the best of places right now. Better not add something else to the pile. She wants it, but her instincts are screaming at her not to. The box is dropped to the ground as well, and given a stomp from her foot. She reaches down to collect what is now just trash, and hesitates for a split second before throwing it away. When she straightens up, the coffee is finished. She reaches for a cup. One addiction is plenty.

Catra adds the smallest amount of creamer to her cup, and just a pinch of sugar. She takes her coffee mostly black. The bitterness always shocks her into full wakefulness, and she goes into the living room to pick a nice spot to wait.

It isn’t long before Adora shows. Catra looks through her living room window as Adora walks out to her car. Catra glances at the clock. 8:21. That’ll do.

She knows Adora likes routine, it wasn’t too hard to figure that out from a conversation and a few glances. She figures 8:20 will be a safe bet for the future. 

* * *

The next morning, Catra gets up at 7:45. She’s gotten a whole 5 hours of sleep, and is feeling positively refreshed. She throws on some clothes and makes her way outside around the same time Adora does.

Adora’s wearing a slate-colored suit with little flair, though her golden hair makes up for it, put up in a simple bun. She’s glowing again.

 _She must be a morning person_ , Catra thinks.

And then, _Damn, she looks good._

Catra allows herself to drink in the sight of Adora in professional clothes before announcing herself.

“Hey Adora,” she calls over with a smirk and a mock-salute. She’s going for something playful after the tension of the last few days, having finally adjusted a bit herself. Adora turns to her with another unreadable expression, though it quickly settles into a friendly, almost apologetic smile.

“Catra, hey! How are you doing?”

“Ah not so bad. I’ve got an early start today, some business in the city.” she says, letting her voice carry as she leans up against the side of her house.

“Oh yeah? Well good luck out there. Chasing any stories today?”

Catra grins, remembering Adora’s interest in her job.

“Just one. We’ll see how it turns out.”

“Okay, well I’m off to catch the bad guys. We still on to get together this weekend?”

“Hmm, that’s right. Better come back in one piece,” Catra teases. She thinks she can see Adora’s blush from here.

“Sure thing!” is her response.

With that, Adora’s in her car and on her way.

Feeling confident she knows what Adora’s up to today, Catra makes plans to meet with her handler. She has work to do.

* * *

Catra gets into her car just after lunchtime, and steels herself. Meeting with her handler is her least favorite part of the job. That includes the killing.

She doesn’t have far to drive and soon finds herself surrounded by older townhouses, clustered closer together than the sprawl of her suburban neighborhood. She pulls up in front of the familiar brick building. The walk up these steps is something that’s seared into Catra’s mind, permanently. It’s preceded nearly every one of her worst nightmares, and the walk back out is her view immediately afterward. She takes a deep breath and heads up the small steps and knocks on the door.

She’s greeted by an older woman in a dark red coat. She’s tall, but otherwise unassuming at first glance. Catra knows better. Their weekly check-ins have proven otherwise, hundreds of times.

“Ah, Catra,” comes the drawl from her superior. “Come in, won’t you?”

Catra wordlessly steps inside, eager to make this visit as short as possible.

“What do you have for me, Weaver?” Catra asks impatiently, sitting down at a simple table about ten feet inside the townhouse.

Weaver glides over and _tut-tuts_ as she reaches a hand out to Catra’s hair.

“Always in a hurry, even at 31. You’ll never make it much longer with that kind of patience.”

Catra doesn’t need a reminder of her recent birthday, or her _fucking_ age. But she stays silent a moment. When Weaver is indulged, she usually gets to the point.

“Very well... “ come Weaver’s hesitant words. “You’ll be working a familiar target, Jackson Duluth. Your little date last week is about to pay off.” There’s a hint of something in those words, maybe mocking or a challenge. Catra doesn’t much care, she’s just happy that her assignment’s likely to be a lot safer than a few nights ago.

Duluth is a target she’d taken out for drinks about a week and a half ago, who she’d given her number to with the implicit promise of something more. Duluth was only too eager. He works for a private company that’s contracted out by the Department of Defense for their defensive missile program, Catra knows. The Center is having a few other agents infiltrate it soon. Duluth has a high level security clearance for his company, and Catra guesses her mission this time is to retrieve it.

Weaver confirms this a moment later.

“Meet with Duluth and gain his trust the usual way. You’ll need to get the info about his security clearance and find a way to deliver it back to us. The Center needs it for another mission, but you have the connection they need with Duluth. Think you can manage that?”

Her voice is definitely taunting now. Catra won’t give her the satisfaction, not today.

“Of course. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

She stands up and is on her way to the door when she turns around and looks at Weaver. A thought crosses her mind, and she’s curious.

“What happened to my partner? The one from three nights ago?”

“He’s dead.” Weaver states plainly.

Catra gives a small nod. She figured as much.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

Since her excursion a few nights ago, Adora’s been feeling much better.

No longer worrying about half-formed whispers in her mind, she’s free to focus on the things that matter. Things like the fact that Catra is flirting with her. Oh god, is she flirting with her.

This confuses Adora, because as far as she knows, Catra’s married. But she’s definitely not as subtle as she thinks she is. The smirks, that little salute this morning (Adora takes a moment to think about how cute that was). Her confusion is definitely… well, confusing, but it’s a better feeling than her suspicions from earlier. It’s a warmer feeling, spurred on by clear mutual attraction and the warmth of a friendly gaze, rather than thoughts of murder and espionage.

 _Speaking of murder and espionage, here they come now,_ Adora thinks as her partners round the corner, giggling together like always.

Partners doesn’t exactly cover it, she supposes. They’re her best friends, have been for 14 years.

Here at work, they’re Agents Moon and Williams, though Adora’s always thought they sound kind of absurdly formal that way. _Agent Gray_ has a similar problem, to her ears. Silly titles for the most important people in her life, Glimmer and Bow. All three were in the same program together fresh out of high school, and they’d proven to be an effective unit. They’d refused to be separated, and had ended up transferring to four different programs together over the years, getting valuable experience from whatever field they entered. Adora supposes the field that needs them most right now is counterintelligence. The last few years sure have been tense.

Glimmer looks up from laughing at something Bow said, and spots her friend down the hall.

“Adora! Hey!” she shouts and waves, running over to where Adora’s gotten in for the day.

Even at their age, Glimmer is still a veritable ball of energy. Adora wonders how she does it.

“Hey Glimmer, hey Bow. Ready for our second day?” Adora asks.

“Of course!” Bow says enthusiastically, putting his arm around both of them. He smooths out his expression to a slightly more professional smile, and together the three of them walk into the office. They pass by the secretary with a few nods, and make their way to a sound-proofed conference room that dominates one wall, complete with dark windows and a red light bulb over the door to let others know it’s in use.

The room is filled with papers, bulletin boards, and sticky notes. Information, as far as the eye can see. And all of it highly classified. In here, the noise and bustle of the office is non-existent. This is a space for thinking and strategizing. Adora’s excited about today. Yesterday was all about settling into the department and learning the ropes, but today she and her friends have been promised a rundown on the department’s most recent operation. It took place three nights ago, and apparently something big went down.

An agent Adora doesn’t know turns around in a chair and looks at the three of them.

“Ah, you’re here,” he says. “I’ve been assigned to bring you three up to speed on our operations in Washington so far.”

They all take seats, and he runs them through a brief history of the department under Reagan. Sounds like things have been quiet up until recently. The agent spends a lot of time covering the last few weeks, and how they’d been planning a sting for quite some time. Over the last few years, they’ve pieced together that there’s KGB operatives active in Washington D.C. They have zero leads on who the individuals are, and have only been able to gather actionable intelligence in the last few months. It seems as though the Soviets have ramped up their espionage efforts in the States. Nobody knows why. They’ve been targeting minor political figures, the kind who don’t make headlines but know things all the same. 

Finally, the part Adora’s been looking forward to.

Their recent operation was to use a congressional aide as bait in a stin-- wait, hold on.

“Wait, hold on,” Adora blurts. “You did what?”

“Bait.” the man repeats, sounding final. “He knew what he signed up for. I think.” The last two words are quieter than the rest. That doesn’t make Adora feel any better about the department’s actions.

“Okay, so you used him as bait,” Glimmer confirms, leaning forward. “But the question is, did it work?”

Their agent looks at them with a gleam in his eyes. “Oh, it worked alright. We actually lured one out into the open. I saw them. Shot at them personally.”

Adora lets her mouth fall open. Wow, this is the real deal. 

Bow notices that the man wants to say something else. “And what else? There’s gotta be more to that story than just shooting at someone, right?” he asks.

Another gleam in the eyes. Is there a spotlight somewhere Adora doesn’t know about?

“We got one.” he says.

A beat of silence hangs in the air. Glimmer is the first to speak up.

“You mean… _got_ got?”

The man nods.

Adora furrows her brow. Their department has a body count already.

Bow looks thoughtful, then asks in a quiet voice, “Who were they?”

The agent looks down at the table for a moment, defeated..

“We don’t know,” he admits. “Well, we know, I guess. We know their name, their blood type, all that crap. But this person wasn’t spy material. Running theory is that he’s not a Russian, just a sympathizer. He was recruited recently, picked up for an odd job, one that went wrong. But we can’t be sure.”

Some more silence.

“People knew the guy. He definitely had a life, even had a girlfriend. He was young. Young and stupid…”

Adora suddenly doesn’t feel so great about this. It wasn’t all that long ago that she discovered some of her own political opinions, some of which are… not necessarily the kind the Bureau approves of. She can imagine a young, directionless guy, filled with passion. Asking around for radicals, getting more than he bargained for. The thought just makes Adora sad.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

It’s evening now, and Catra’s getting ready for her rendezvous with Jackson Duluth. What was it Weaver had said?

_Gain his trust the usual way._

Catra gives a small snort. Sleep with the guy. Easy. She doesn’t even mind it that much, Duluth had seemed like an okay guy when she worked him a week prior. Tonight wouldn’t be a total pain.

Catra pulls on the blonde wig she had worn out on their last date, and carefully applies some makeup to cover her freckles. She always does this when she’s working, feels her freckles are too distinctive against her darker skin. They make her stand out. She makes sure to put in a colored contact as well. She knows the kind of reactions her eyes get. Knows they’re memorable.

Her mind wanders back a few nights to her dinner with Adora, and the times she’d caught her staring…

Memorable.

Wig and makeup properly applied, she checks herself in the mirror again. She’s elected to wear a particularly skimpy little dress, black and tight in all the right places. It exaggerates her natural features, and she knows Duluth will like that. Men always do. She flicks out the light in her bathroom and heads to the garage, grabbing a coat and a small purse on the way. The handbag is stuffed with a pistol, an ultra-compact camera, gloves, tracing paper, and tampons. Everything a girl could need.

* * *

She’s in the bar with Duluth, nursing a martini. She’s laughing at his jokes, and touching his arm. This part usually doesn’t last long. She looks over her drink at her companion.

Duluth is a handsome sort of fellow, in his own way. He’s got neatly trimmed hair, close cropped, and a beard that’s not too long, kept in check. He’s around six feet tall, and clearly has a bit of muscle. His face is gentle, and Catra thinks again that he’s really not all that bad of a guy.

Some of her past targets still make her shudder. In Washington, there’s no shortage of perverse old men, and the ones who aren’t ancient and creepy are mean. Folks are irritable around here, staying up late with their important political work and drinking far too much. Finding someone unpleasant around here is almost guaranteed.

When Duluth leans in close and asks if she wants to get out of there, she almost doesn’t mind too much.

“Sure,” she purrs, and waits patiently while he closes out their tab.

Duluth gives her a look, and they head out to his car.

Before she knows it, they’re in his small apartment, and he moves forward to kiss her.

“Ah ah ah,” she warns, voice low. She holds out a finger to stop him, and he complies.

She prefers to set the pace herself, especially with men. After all, with them it’s nothing but acting. Her targets are almost exclusively men, something she finds herself lamenting. There was one exception, years ago, and Catra thinks back to her sometimes. She had enjoyed herself.

But that was then. She kicks into gear, preparing herself for what’s to come.

She leads Duluth to the bed, makes him lay down. She crawls up the bed toward him, slowly.

He has a look of anticipation in his eyes.

Catra finds herself almost on top of him now, and presses one slow kiss to his lips. Hmm. Not the worst.

She lowers herself onto his body, her smaller frame straddling him. She pushes herself down and begins to grind slowly on his leg, back and forth, letting out a fake moan.

Usually this works for her, and is enough to get things started. But… she’s having trouble tonight.

Trouble?

Wait, that doesn’t happen.

She’s usually good at this part.

Catra opens her eyes, annoyed.

Adora.

God _dammit._

Leave it to that blonde idiot to ruin this.

She sighs internally. She’s just going to have to try a little harder. She presses herself more forcefully against his leg, allows her hands to wander over his chest.

 _Fucking Adora._ Some part of her is willing to bet Adora would be smug to know she made her way into Catra’s mind during a time like this.

That just makes Catra think of Adora’s strong arms, and her calloused but gentle fingers… what they could do to her… what she would let them do…

Catra lets out another moan, and this one is real.

_Holy shit, focus._

_What are you, a schoolgirl with a crush?_ _Adora’s a fucking FBI agent. Kind of the definition of off limits._

She knew letting her gaze linger too many times would do this. She _knew_ it.

She grinds even harder now, out of spite, and she undoes Duluth’s belt.

 _Fuck you, Adora_ , she thinks as she rips off her dress.

_Fuck you._

* * *

It doesn’t take much to tire him out, and soon, Catra has the place to herself.

 _Wallet, wallet,_ she thinks, looking around. Where did his pants get thrown off to?

She slips off the bed and grabs the little bundle of leather out of a back pocket.

 _Not very flattering,_ she notes as she glances at his driver’s license photo. Fingering through his cards, she makes contact with something that’s not a laminated rectangle. It’s a small picture. Catra pulls it out to take a look.

It’s a little girl, maybe five years old. She’s smiling in the sun, wearing a long dress with flowers on it. She has the same nose as the man sleeping a few feet away from Catra.

 _His daughter_ , she realizes. Hmm. There’s a small moment of silence before she puts the picture back, taking care that it’s right where it came from, in between a library card and an insurance card.

From there, it takes about 15 seconds for Catra to find the card she needs. It’s the same shape as the others, but with a holographic pattern just under the surface. It’s heavier than the rest too. Fancy.

Catra decides his ID photo on this card is much more accommodating to his features, and she pulls out her camera and takes two well placed shots, of the front and back of the card. The info here should be enough to get someone inside. How The Center will manage it without the actual shit inside of the card, Catra doesn’t know. It’s not her mission.

She turns to Duluth one last time, and thinks of his daughter.

And then she’s gone.

* * *

Delivering the info is simple, just a dead drop in a park. Catra spots someone who she knows is a message runner, gets up from her spot on a bench, and leaves. As easy as that. In a matter of seconds, the other agent swoops in to take the microfilm canister, and it’s done.

 _Easy as that_.

Or not so easy. Usually fucking her targets is a lot smoother than that. But a certain blonde woman is in her head now.

 _Wonderful_.

Catra plans to go home and sleep it off. Maybe Adora will stop being hot in the morning.

* * *

Adora is still hot in the morning.

_Shit._

Catra wakes up in time to greet Adora in her driveway once again, and they solidify their plans for this weekend.

Adora is inviting Catra over to _her_ house this time, for dinner and a quick tour. It’s a nice friendly way to round out their week, and Catra finds herself looking forward to it.

The rest of her day flies by, consumed with work for her cover job. She spends some time typing up the research she’d accumulated the previous week, intending to send off a copy to an editor once the weekend has passed. Before she knows it, she’s in bed staring at the ceiling. Then her eyes are closing.

They snap open again, and five hours have passed.

Today’s the day.

Saturday, and she has big dinner plans.

It’s all for the trust of a neighbor, she keeps reminding herself. Making friends means less to worry about. _Especially_ if that friend has a gun in her house and hunts people like her for a living.

Catra spends about half the day contemplating what she should wear. This isn’t exactly a romantic date, but she still gets the feeling a pair of jeans and a leather jacket might not cut it. Time to get creative.

She thumbs through her closet and after a while finds a sharp crimson blazer she hasn’t used in a while.

 _Excellent_. It has a matching necktie scarf that she likes and sets aside, and a matching skirt. Catra wrinkles her nose at that and searches for literally anything else.

She emerges with a dark pair of form fitting slacks thrown over a hanger, and is satisfied with her choices. It’ll look pleasant and formal, while being just a bit flirty. Not unlike Adora’s dinner outfit from earlier in the week. Catra gives a smirk.

_This’ll make Adora go nuts._

* * *

**_Adora_ **

They had agreed on 6:30 for dinner, and at 6:35 there comes a knock on her door. Adora smiles, knowing exactly who it is. Her house is much more put together now, and she’s excited to show off her progress.

She opens up the door, and finds herself face to face with the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen.

Catra is… wearing a suit.

A blazer with a matching necktie, and dark pants that make the crimson above them really pop.

And boy is she _wearing_ it, holy hell. Her mane of wavy hair has been combed off to one side, and she holds herself confidently, the dark red blazer hugging her frame in such a _delicious_ way.

Adora gulps.

She’s not gonna make it through this, is she?

She realizes she’s been staring, and blinks, inviting Catra inside excitedly.

“Hey! I’m glad you made it! I was afraid maybe you only said yes to be polite, and I was worried that--” she’s rambling, giving herself away. She stops mid-sentence with her mouth open, shuts it stupidly and says, “Yeah, okay. So. Dinner!”

Catra just smiles, and allows herself to be navigated to the dining room.

When they’ve sat down, Catra asks, “So, what do you have for me?” She smirks and looks at Adora expectantly. Wow, that’s a good look…

“Right!” Adora says. She takes a split second to get herself under control, and then shows off her cooking to Catra.

“We’ve got flank steak with a shallot dressing, some stuffed mushrooms, and some salad?” Her voice pitches up at the end and turns it into a question, but Catra just raises her eyebrows, looking impressed.

“Damn, sounds pretty good. Can’t wait to judge and let you know for myself.” Catra says with another smirk.

When Catra tries her food, she chews in silence for a moment, not giving anything away on her face.

Adora holds her breath.

Catra looks contemplative after swallowing, and Adora can’t help herself.

“Is it good?” she asks tentatively.

Catra responds by looking up from her plate and locking eyes with Adora, a smile pulling gently on one side of her mouth. She holds the eye contact for a beat longer than Adora expects, and then…

_Oh, god._

Catra blinks once, slowly, and when she opens her eyes the little half-smile turns into a full-blown grin.

_Wow._

Adora almost shudders, and a pleasantly warm feeling in her chest swiftly drops to somewhere lower in her gut.

“Of course it’s good, dummy!” Catra teases, breaking Adora out of her moment, and Adora is smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

_Yes!_

_She impressed Catra!_

“Ha, awesome!”

Adora is relieved. She’s not an amazing cook, but is pretty comfortable following directions if she’s got them. She wanted to dazzle Catra a little, and had pulled out all the stops. The stuffed mushrooms are the fanciest thing she knows how to make herself, so she had asked Bow and Glimmer for any ideas the day before. Bow’s face had lit up and he’d scribbled down his mom’s recipe for shallot dressing and “the best way to make steak ever, trust me on this!” Adora is relieved it’s as good as Bow claims. Where would she be without her friends?

This loosens her up a bit, and the two find themselves in a friendly and comfortable rhythm for the rest of their meal.

Catra laughs a few times at Adora’s silly jokes ( _yes! I did it!_ ) and they talk about nothing important at all. Gossip about neighbors past and present, some details about Catra’s recent research for work, Adora’s ideas for decoration in her place.

It’s fun and easy, and Adora’s beaming the whole way through.

The end of the night comes sooner than she’d like, after a small tour of her place (a bit redundant, she thinks, they live in the same model of suburban house and they have identical layouts). Catra seems like she’s enjoying herself, and that’s what Adora cares about most. After the second day when Catra had seemed a little distant, and after Adora’s own nighttime wandering, things had settled into a comfortable back and forth.

Adora tries to keep her distance, just a bit.

 _She’s married,_ she has to remind herself periodically. But she can’t help it when her flirting still slips through. And besides, Catra is reciprocating… Hmm. But things are pleasant, and she’s glad the night went so smoothly.

They’re lingering near the door now, neither one particularly eager to say goodnight.

“So…” Catra begins, cutting through the tension.

_Thank god._

“This has been really nice.” she continues. “And I’m glad I came over. Feels pretty good to have a friend around here. It’s been a while.”

A blush rises to Adora’s cheeks, and she responds “I’m just happy to be here. Thank you again for welcoming me into the neighborhood, properly. It’s been a good week.”

Catra smiles, and just says, “Good.”

Silence hangs between them, not uncomfortably.

They’re standing close to each other.

It wouldn’t be that hard for Adora to lean down and...

 _You just met this woman!_ She reprimands herself. _I don’t care if she’s hot, you can’t just do that!_

Adora instead opts to glance at her watch, and wow, it is actually much later than she thought it was.

Catra catches the gesture, and turns to open the door. Her fingers rest on the handle, and she turns slightly to catch Adora’s eye.

“Goodnight, Adora.”

And she slips out into the night, leaving Adora feeling electrified.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

It’s been five days since her dinner at Adora’s house, and Catra’s pleased with herself.

 _Every_ thing about that night went like she wanted. Her outfit had made Adora stare as she opened the door, which was quite entertaining, and Catra’s certain that after that much flirting and friendly banter, they’ve got a connection.

_Good._

_Keep it up and she might trust you_.

She knows her own flirting is a bit much at times.

_Blinking like that, and that smile? Ugh._

But she tells herself she’s toying with Adora, building something up in the way that best suits their unique connection. If they’re making eyes at each other, then why can’t she use that to her advantage?

It’s been a comfortable few days, and she’s heard from The Center that some other agents were successful in their infiltration of the defense company, thanks to Catra’s efforts. The news doesn’t please her as much as it usually does. She’s having too much fun with Adora now to think about those kinds of missions, especially when she’s not on them.

It’s time once again for her check-in with Weaver. Catra’s not looking forward to it, but thinks she can handle it. Her new routine is almost… fun. It has her in a decent mood for the first time in years.

When she pulls up to the brick building, she puts on her armor, invisible shields against the mind tricks that are sure to follow. Once she’s completely composed, she walks up the steps.

Inside, the older woman has on her resting expression. It’s totally unreadable, a stone wall of emotion. Catra goes to her usual spot, a spindly wooden chair at the simple table, and flops herself down.

“Any new assignments today?”

Weaver turns to her with her impenetrable mask of nothing, and says, “I know about your new neighbor.”

Catra freezes.

_Shit._

_Is Adora a test?_

_Is Adora one of them?_

Weaver glides into view, interrupting the miniature cyclone of panic beginning to circle in Catra’s chest.

“And I know about who she is, too.”

Catra breathes out slowly.

_Okay._

_Not a test._

“You two are getting friendlier. I want you to keep up that work, and leverage it for me.”

Catra shudders, despite her imaginary armor.

_For me._

_Not for The Center, for me._

Catra thinks she’s stayed silent long enough.

“Okay, in what way?” She thinks she knows the answer already, and doesn’t want to hear it from Weaver’s cruel voice.

“You are to use her for information. She’s not foolish enough to tell you things outright, so I want you to take advantage of your trust and look around her house instead. She may have something there. You should also seek to get closer. She may confide more, if you two are…”

Weaver trails off, and Catra knows it’s on purpose. Holding those words over Catra’s head, letting her fill in the blanks instead of saying it herself. Why should she do things herself when she can let fear do it for her?

Old bitch.

Catra should have known this was coming.

Should have known that any semblance of a good thing, of a healthy friendship or relationship, would be gripped and mangled by Weaver. Poisoned. And Catra has no choice.

She sighs internally, refusing once again to let anything show on her face.

She looks Weaver in the eyes, and says, “I’m on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this chapter has a lot of plot! So many new people and concepts introduced here, I really had to power through that one. My fingers are officially tired and I'll be taking a full day off from writing tomorrow. Still, chapter 4 shouldn't be more than a few days, and I'm just getting more and more excited as it goes on. What do you think of all the new stuff? Will Catra be able to handle her new mission? Will Adora do finger guns again? Sound off in the comments!
> 
> As I post this, it's still November, which means it's still Native American Heritage month! Below is a local (to me) indigenous led organization that could use some help! Please consider donating, or supporting your own local indigenous folks, year round.
> 
> You can donate [here.](https://nayapdx.org/support-us/donate-now/)


	4. nothing's gonna happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and Adora each learn something unexpected about the other. A bar is visited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I’ve decided to expand this story’s chapter count from 17 to 24! I found that some chapters later on may have ballooned in size as the small details of the plot are fleshed out, and I think this new structure will streamline the story and allow for much better pacing. Importantly, it’ll also mean the chapters aren’t 10k words apiece, meaning I can get them out sooner to all of you! I hope this is a good change you all will enjoy.
> 
> I'm hoping to post two chapters a week from here on out, I'll let y'all know if there is a change.
> 
> I’ve adjusted the warning for the graphic violence tag to reflect new chapters.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s read along so far, and enjoy chapter 4!

**_Adora_ **

It’s mid-December now, and a thin blanket of snow covers everything in the city and its surrounding areas.

Adora still doesn’t mind the cold.

Instead, she’s practically skipping down the street. Catra has invited her out for a drink.

_A drink!_

_That’s universal code for a date!_

That low, warm feeling Adora’s felt a number of times before is now back, some version of butterflies making her stomach feel almost queasy with nerves. But it’s still a good feeling. Adora’s happy to have whatever this thing is with Catra. This friendship? Flirtation? Regardless, it’s been a constant source of happiness for her over the course of the four weeks they’ve now known each other.

Adora’s grateful that at least _some_ thing is making her happy. Not like her job is helping there. If anything, her closeness with Catra just reminds her of her job’s fragility, and her own increasing hesitation. At any moment, someone could find out that she’s...

_No! You have to stop thinking about that._

_Nobody will know. Glimmer and Bow would never tell anyone._

The thought still eats away at her, at least until her mind is focused firmly on something else.

Thankfully that doesn’t take long, because she’s on her way to the bar now to meet Catra.

Catra’s chosen well, Adora notes as she looks up from a scrap of paper where she’d scribbled the address.

It’s a bar in Arlington, just a few minutes from their suburban homes in Falls Church. The outside makes it look appealing, with wide windows and some playful neon signs. Warm, dim bar lighting spills out onto the street, and draws Adora forward.

Inside it’s pleasantly busy, but not too packed. The familiar hum of a friendly crowd washes over her, immersing her in a happy sort of glow. She basks in the feeling for a moment before looking around, and spots Catra over at the bar on a comfortable-looking stool chatting with the bartender.

Adora takes in the leather jacket Catra has on, and thinks it looks good. Very ‘ _I’ll kick your ass’_ in a way that really speaks to her. She weaves her way through the tables and comes up behind Catra. She bumps her shoulder gently and takes the stool next to her.

There’s some music playing ( _I_ _s that ABBA? I love this song!_ ) and so she has to raise her voice a bit when she greets her friend. “Hey Catra! Nice place here!” Adora twists her head and takes it all in again, feeling more at home by the second.

Catra flashes a grin and says, “Yeah, it’s a dump but I love it. Glad you could make it out!”

She drops the smile, and suddenly looks serious. “Okay, big question time. What are you drinking?”

Adora laughs a little and says, “Uh, how about a brown ale?”

Catra looks satisfied, and turns to the bartender.

“A brown ale for the gentlewoman, and I’ll take a cider.”

The bartender nods and says, “You got it, Miss Álvarez.”

Adora raises an eyebrow. “Gentlewoman, huh? And it seems like they know you pretty well around here.”

Catra bites the inside of her cheek and nods. “Oh yeah, I come here all the time. It’s a great place to just relax, all locals and regulars. It’s kind of my own little spot, you know? Plus, I never take--” she cuts herself off suddenly. Annoyance flashes across her face for a moment, and Adora leans forward slightly, looking concerned.

“What is it?”

Catra sighs, and her look of discomfort is gone. “Ah it’s nothing really. I just remembered something I have to... work stuff.”

Adora nods, and thinks she can relate. Work is what’s on her mind when Catra isn’t, and it’s been stressful. “Oh I totally get that.”

It’s Catra’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Work got you down?”

Adora takes a moment to collect herself, and realizes how fond she’s gotten of Catra. How seeing her here with some concern on her face, asking about her work is just making Adora like her even more. She isn’t sure if it’s the implied intimacy of the setting, or their friendly banter already coming out, but she feels like she owes Catra a bit of an explanation about her work.

Just then, the bartender comes back with their drinks, and Adora’s happy to have something to do with her hands, to get some alcohol in her system.

“Yeah, work has been. Kind of a lot lately. I’ve really been nervous about one thing in particular…”

“Hmm, what is it? Some classified spy shit?” Catra asks, taking a swig of her cider.

Adora smiles at the comment, but lowers her voice a little when she says, “No, it’s uh. A personal thing.” She hesitates, unsure if she should be talking about this, especially when things between them are so… undefined. She takes a breath. “It’s just that… the Bureau is pretty strict, you know? They’ve got rules, and expectations. And usually I’m all about that stuff, but… sometimes their rules can feel a little stifling. They might not be so happy if they knew about, uh. Well there’s definitely a few things about me they wouldn’t like. It’s been stressful.”

Catra looks thoughtful for a moment before she says, “That sounds like a lot to deal with. I don’t know exactly what personal thing you mean, and I’m not gonna pry, but having jobs breathe down your neck is the wooorst.” She stretches out the last word a bit, her low voice rasping in a way that Adora finds so charming.

_Okay, so she kind of danced around it._

_But Catra at least understands?_

She thinks she’s hinted at it plenty.

_Remember, she’s married._

_You’re literally on a date right now._

_Shut up!_

She shuts out her internal chatter and instead says “Okay, see I’m glad you get it! It can be a job in itself just to manage their expectations sometimes. I want to do something helpful, and I know it comes with a lot of responsibility, but I always feel good about what I do.”

_That’s a lie._

_Just yesterday you learned about the Bureau’s targeting of MLK Jr. back in ‘64. Not exactly great stuff from the organization you work for._

Adora’s face grows hot as her internal warring thoughts almost reach a boiling point. Thankfully, Catra interrupts those thoughts with a question.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask. Not so much about the job but just in general, what’s with you? What’s your whole story, you know? To end up working there for so long?”

_Oh, boy. Where to start?_

Adora doesn’t mind telling Catra the truth, she just doesn’t want her pity. People always offer pity when they hear about Adora’s life. But she gets the feeling Catra won’t do that. She pushes forward.

“Well, there’s honestly not a whole lot to tell. I was in the foster care system when I was a kid. I never knew my parents, and I got passed around kind of a lot. Got into fights, all that stuff. Somehow, I made it through high school and the Bureau recruited me from there. There was a job fair my senior year and the guy working the booth liked the way I thought, said they could use kids like me. And I guess,” she gestures down at herself, “here I am.”

Catra doesn’t look convinced. “That’s an awfully sad life to cram into, like, three sentences. Any more to that story? You don’t have to say, of course, but I’m all ears. We’ve got time.”

Adora appreciates Catra’s gentle tone, which is helpful and sweet without the condescending edge that accompanies most folks’ reaction to this.

She drops her guard a little, and decides to go for it.

“Yeah, you’re right. It sucked really bad. My case worker told me my parents were killed in a hit and run, when I was just three years old. I don’t remember them at all… I really wish I could.”

Catra looks sympathetic, and says something that surprises Adora.

“I never knew my parents either.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Just saying I get it. _Actually_ get it.”

Adora’s relieved to know that’s true. She keeps going.

“Growing up was tough. Nobody seemed to want me around for long, I think the longest I ended up staying anywhere was a little over two years with the… Hansons? Wow, I can hardly even remember. They were good to me, but they got too old to properly care for me. So I kept getting moved around, and everything just sort of… fell apart.” Adora sighs, but a small smile from Catra gives her some momentum. A pull of her beer later, she continues her story.

“High school was so hard. I never stayed in any school long enough for it to matter. If I got to settle down somewhere for a while, I wasn’t even all that bad at it! But I just never had the opportunity to really… you know, _do_ anything. My okay grades from some of the longer stays I had with families meant that I scraped by, but just barely. Once, I almost got expelled for getting into a fight, it was like. Sophomore year?” Some more beer. This one really makes Adora angry.

“Some guy was picking on one of the only friends I had, some girl I barely knew, but we stuck together. He was an asshole, he played sports or something. He wanted my friend to stop reading a book, I think. Just some really misogynistic trash, like why can’t she read a book? We’re in fucking school! Anyway, he just walked up to her and I could tell right away it wasn’t school bullying, he might have actually hurt her.” Adora pauses for a breath, and when she doesn’t continue, Catra quirks an eyebrow.

“... What did you do?” she asks quietly.

Adora looks up from her bottle to meet Catra’s mismatched eyes. She can feel a few tears start to surface at the thought of this memory.

“I beat the shit out of him.”

She remembers her knuckles, screaming in pain as she straddled him and punched and punched and punched… And when she eventually got pulled off of him, how his face didn’t look much like him anymore. She remembers wiping the blood off on her skirt, and even now she doesn’t regret it one bit.

In Catra’s eyes, there’s a complicated look.

_Oh no, did I scare her off? Shit._

_People don’t want to hear about how unstable you were as a kid, you moron!_

But Catra doesn’t seem put off. She just keeps up this complicated look for a few moments, something like sadness somewhere in her eyes.

_Maybe her own childhood was just as tough. Huh._

The thought gives Adora some hope, that maybe this connection goes beyond attraction.

Catra eventually breaks their eye contact, and reaches again for her drink. She says simply, “Sorry that happened. He sounds like a piece of shit. Glad you got him.”

It isn’t what she's expecting to hear, but it fills her with strength. Catra appreciates that she did that? _Wow._

Adora gives a small smile, and just says, “Thanks. He never bothered my friend again, and nobody else in the school even talked to me after that.” She laughs for a moment at the next part of the memory. “The rumor around school was that I was some sort of fighting goddess, I think everyone was scared of me. Can you believe that? They gave me some sort of weird nickname I don’t remember now… And of course the fucking story followed me to the next school, ugh.”

Catra laughs, a high pitched sound that’s music to Adora’s ears. “Ha! They were probably scared of those fucking guns you got, Gray. Do you like, go to the gym every day, or what?” 

Adora blushes and says in a small voice, “Every other day.”

That just makes Catra laugh again, and soon they’re a bit of a mess, giggling together at the bar like teenagers.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

She’s really enjoying herself now. Catra is laughing more than she has in a year, enjoying the presence of her companion.

She knows that she’ll have to end all of this eventually, but in the meantime… Espionage is a long game. Very long. Gaining Adora’s trust has been easier than she thought it might be. Probably because Adora’s such a dummy. It’s definitely that she’s too trusting, and not that Catra’s flirting is coming naturally and easily.

Well, not everything tonight is coming easily. She’s had a few snags.

Earlier, she was a little _too_ comfortable when talking about her favorite bar. She’d almost let slip that this bar is great because she never takes her targets here.

Adora hadn’t seemed to notice, and so Catra rolled with it. 

And then Adora starts talking about herself. Really opening up for the first time since they’ve been around each other. And Catra isn’t expecting… that.

Catra’s been thinking that Adora might be another dumb, patriotic American, joining the FBI because it’s some sort of model career, to catch the Soviet scum and do her part for her country. Instead, it sounds like…

 _Well it sounds like she didn’t have a lot of good options, honestly_.

And Adora’s plain admittance that the Bureau would not approve of her if they knew more about her leads Catra to the obvious conclusion.

_This is a closeted gay woman who’s scared of losing the only thing she knows._

This realization changes Catra’s perception of Adora, and she instead sees her as a reluctant ‘hero’. Probably trying to do the right thing but just… misguided.

_If Adora knew about who I work for, I wonder if she’d think the same thing about me?_

Her and Adora talk for a bit after their laughing fit about anything that comes to their minds. Adora rambles for a bit about her partners and best friends, Bow and Glimmer. Catra asks Adora about her other Bureau work before her current position. Adora’s workout routine comes up, and Adora excitedly asks Catra to come running with her (“I do like six miles a day and it’s fine if you don’t want to because it’s early in the morning but I always think that--”)

Catra had said yes.

Eventually the conversation shifts and Adora takes her turn to ask Catra some big questions.

She’s been waiting for this.

“So…” Adora says, steadying herself after a particularly long laughing session. “What about you? I mean, all of the stuff you asked me. What’s your story? If you want to say, of course.”

Catra can see a clear question in Adora’s eyes, and has an idea of what she might want to know.

“Hmm. Well, my life has been kind of a mess, to be honest. I mean, a hot mess, sure,” she says, smirking. “But like I said, I never knew my parents. I guess I can start there?”

Adora nods, and they both take long drinks from their bottles, each on their second.

Catra takes a deep breath, preparing to weave her story convincingly.

“So my parents abandoned me as a baby, they must have died not long after or something… Nobody’s quite sure what happened to them. I grew up for the first six or seven years at my grandma’s house. Those were the best years of my life, for a long time.” 

Catra Álvarez misses her grandma. It’s one of the details about her cover that folks seem to connect with most. Americans are suckers for a tragic backstory. Now that she’s heard Adora’s real life history, though, her cover story feels… in bad taste.

 _Hey, at least it’s not all a lie. Things were fucking miserable,_ she has to remind herself.

Adora now wears an impossibly small smile, a sad look in her eyes. Her brow is furrowed in a way that raises her eyebrows a bit, bringing them together and completing the wistful look.

Catra almost melts.

“My grandma passed away,” she lies, looking down into her lap. “And I went to live with some old family friends until I was around eight. That year was… not as great. I’m thankful they took me in for a while, but eventually I had to leave. I was in the foster care system too, for a while. That went pretty bad. So when I was 12… I ran away.”

Adora says in a gentle voice, “Really? I’m so sorry.”

Catra just returns Adora’s small smile from a moment ago, and says, “It’s alright. I’m over it now.”

“So what did you do then?”

Catra braces herself. This part of her cover draws entirely on her actual experiences.

“I lived on the street for a while. It was fucking hard, but I found some homeless folks who adopted me into their little group. We didn’t have much… or anything, really, but we survived together for a while. Had each other’s backs. When I was 15, I snuck myself into a high school and pretended I was a student there, a transfer. It was the middle of a busy school year, some paperwork might not have gone through correctly, and they believed me. It wasn’t my first time trying that stunt. But it was the first time it worked. I snuck food from the cafeteria through a friend I made, and I graduated with all of them three years later.”

Adora lets out a little giggle. “I’m sorry for laughing, but what the fuck? That’s crazy! You just like. You just snuck in and made it all work? That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard, Catra. Seriously!”

Catra blushes ever so slightly under Adora’s praise, and then gets an extra internal blush when she remembers at least part of that story is true. She hadn’t lasted until graduation, only a month tops, but her deception caught the eye of the KGB, and she’d been working for them ever since.

“Ha, thanks Adora. Yeah, it was kind of wild, but I sort of forced myself into a normal life again, and it worked. With at least a high school education to my name, I found a few odd jobs, picked up journalism, and then met…” Catra pauses. She’s never actually mentioned her fake husband before. Hmm.

_I bet that’s what Adora’s been all weird about._

“Well, when I met Adam.”

Adora’s eyes flick down to her hand, where Catra knows there’s an old ring. That must have been it.

“Is Adam your husband?” Adora asks tentatively.

“Was. He passed away. Back in ‘79.”

Adora’s expression is unreadable as she says, “I’m so sorry Catra.”

Catra’s heart nearly breaks at that.

_Fuck, she really cares._

“It’s okay, I’ve made my peace with it. We bought that house back in ‘78, and I’ve been there ever since, doing my odd jobs and taking things slow. But honestly, Adora.. I know I should be sadder, but it really is fine. It happened a long time ago, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. I’m a different person now, and I…”

She trails off on purpose, hoping maybe this will give Adora some encouragement. Adam’s not a real person anyway. Why should he hold back her mission?

Adora surprises Catra by putting a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. “Thanks for telling me about that. You didn’t have to.”

Catra ignores the electricity where Adora’s strong hand makes contact with her shoulder, and instead gives a small smile and says, “Yeah I did. You gave me the sob story, you get mine. That’s how being friends works, dummy.”

Adora lets a laugh escape her mouth, clear and sweet.

“Well, if you’re sure!”

Catra smiles. She is sure.

From there, the topic returns to lighter fare, like what kind of music they like to listen to, and the upcoming launch of the Space Shuttle _Challenger._

Catra has no problem settling into this, and now that Adora knows Catra’s not actually married anymore, she seems less tense. Catra can probably guess why, and she smirks to herself when she thinks about it.

Catra likes this more relaxed version of Adora, and their back and forth is somehow now even easier and freer. Catra is so satisfied with this night that she almost entirely forgets about the mission she’ll be working in two weeks, assigned to her the previous day. She’s going out again, the first time since that night she was almost found out. But that’s a problem for future Catra.

They abandon their drinks entirely, and become so absorbed in the conversation that neither one notices it’s 11 at night, until Adora glances at her watch.

“Oh shit, it’s late. I gotta get home and sleep.”

Catra understands, and she involuntarily yawns. She could really use the rest as well.

They square up their tabs, gather their things, and head out into the cold night.

Catra’s parked right by the bar, but Adora says she’s got half a block to walk.

“Want me to walk you to your car, princess? Or do you have this handled since you can beat up anyone, apparently?” she teases.

Adora just grins, and lifts her arm in what Catra assumes is a flex. Adora’s wearing a coat that covers her bicep, but she knows it’s impressive enough to warrant the little wink Adora gives her.

“I’ll see you later, _Miss Álvarez.”_ With a smirk of her own, Adora walks off to find her car.

When she’s a few paces away, Catra releases a breath she’s been holding, and allows a blush to fully take over her face.

_Wow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll give ten points to whoever can correctly guess the ABBA song Adora hears in the bar.
> 
> As always, please leave a comment and your feedback!


	5. bad day, bad life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two FBI Special Agents follow up on a lead. Catra’s new mission is more important than she realizes. Обещание нарушено.

**_Adora_ **

It’s two weeks after her and Catra’s evening at the bar, and Adora’s feeling stressed. They’re only a handful of days into 1986, but so far the new year hasn’t seemed very promising. Adora’s at work, and the day is winding down now, the clock reading 4:22 PM.

Well, the day’s winding down for _her_ , at least. For her friends, the day’s not stopping here. 

Just before Christmas, their unit came across a police report about a break-in at Advanced Defense Engineering Systems, a contractor used by the DOD for their missile defense program. The break-in report was pretty standard and didn’t seem to reveal much, or if it even _was_ a break-in at all. The officer who wrote the report hadn’t sounded all that convinced on the phone, but that didn’t dissuade Adora’s partners from having a hunch.

A week ago, Glimmer reached out to the man who runs the Bethesda compound of ADE Systems, where the alleged break-in occurred. Since then, their unit has had to tackle an unbelievable amount of planning for this simple investigation, including multiple releases and request forms.

Despite their status as Special Agents and their department’s high level of discretion, there’s still so much red tape. What should have started off as a routine investigation of a potential lead has turned into quite the task. The three of them all agree that whatever’s in the compound, it’s high level stuff.

Finally, they were able to secure a meeting and the opportunity to look around. The day has arrived, and now Glimmer and Bow are getting themselves ready to drive there after their standard work day for an extended snooping session. Adora hovers nervously nearby, feeling vaguely worried.

“But what if it’s not them?” She asks for the hundredth time.

Bow looks up from the papers he’s thumbing through, and says, “Adora, we’ve been over this. We don’t know for sure, and that’s why we’re going. It pays to be thorough with things like this.”

Glimmer snorts, double-checking her service weapon. She says, “Besides, with how many hoops we had to jump through, there’s obviously something big there. Something I’m certain the Soviets think is worth targeting. I mean, nothing was taken in the break-in, that smells like info gathering to me. Might not be them, but it also could be. Not gonna hurt to poke around and see what kind of wild shit they’ve got hidden over there, yeah?”

Adora can’t argue with that. She agrees that this is a good lead, she just doesn’t want to see anything happen to her friends.

“Yeah, I know. I just want you guys to be safe, okay? Promise you won’t do anything stupid?”

Bow abruptly stops his paper shuffling and shoots a sideways glance at Glimmer, who just rolls her eyes and says, “I mean, _I’ll_ try. I don’t know about this guy though.” She gives Bow a friendly punch on the shoulder, and smiles up at Adora.

“Really, we’ll be fine. You know that! So don’t worry about us, just head home and get some rest. You’ve done more than enough to help us with this lead, seriously. You’ve got that Soviet Embassy thing later! When we’re done following up here, we’ll back you up like you’re doing for us right now. I think that’s promising too.”

Adora knows Glimmer is right, she should try to sleep. Her own hunch about the embassy is something she’s been thinking about in any spare moment at work, and it’s more important than she’s giving herself credit for.

The Illegals they’re hunting have to be getting communication from somewhere, and Adora thinks their channel is hiding in plain sight. Identifying it and putting a stop to it could be a game-changer. Between her hunch and the intense workload of the past week, she’s beat.

She gives Glimmer a small smile, and says, “Okay okay, fine. I’ll go home and sleep. But just know I’m gonna be thinking about you guys all night. Good luck out there.”

Bow beams a million-watt smile at that, and then gets up to wrap his two companions in a hug.

“Aww, that’s so sweet Adora! We’ll stay safe, I promise.”

With that, Adora says her goodbyes and heads out of the sound-proofed room. She makes her way to her desk to gather up some loose papers. She glances out the window where the sun is already beginning to set, casting a faint pink glow across the patchy clouds and the slightly blue sky.

_I hate it when it gets dark early._

Her thoughts already drift to her friends, who won’t even leave the building for another hour at least. She’s gotta get her mind off this stress.

_Maybe I’ll just go to the gym for a few hours, practice on the bag for a while?_

Satisfied with this plan, she tidies up her desk and gets ready to punch out her feelings.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra’s lounging at home. She’s spent the last week exhaustively preparing for her mission tonight, and now that the day has arrived, she’s convinced she’s ready for anything that could happen.

Initially, Catra had felt the rush of panic that often accompanies missions like this one. Missions where a lot more than just her life is on the line.

The urgent matter at hand was something she thought she was done with the moment she’d made a dead drop with Jackson Duluth’s security clearance inside. Naturally, she wasn’t finished with it by a long shot.

Duluth’s employer, ADE Systems, was infiltrated by two of Catra’s fellow agents on the ground. She remembers the contact she’d received letting her know that her work was instrumental in the operation’s success. Job well done, put it away and never think about it again, right?

Turns out the info gleaned from that operation was quite disturbing, presenting a unique problem for the Soviets. 

ADE Systems has a contract from the DOD to work on all sorts of projects. Some are well known in the intelligence community, like their much-lauded contribution to the most recent iteration of U.S. missile defense systems. Others are less well known, with rumors ranging from special tracking computers to experimental aircraft that are almost totally invisible.

The Soviets’ operation had instead found evidence of a chemical weapons delivery system, designed to be completely undetectable by any current technology. The agents obtained several photographs of the schematics, and were able to also take a few shots of the single existing prototype. The information in the documents didn’t explicitly lay out potential targets, although it wasn’t hard to guess which country might be on the receiving end of this technology.

Upon learning all of this, The Center had determined that the prototype, and all its accompanying research, was to be destroyed. Catra was assigned this special task, entrusting her with an unknowable amount of lives.

Whether or not the prototype even works properly doesn’t seem to matter to The Center. Or even the fact that the United States has never openly made a move this aggressive against the Russians. They’ve decided that this weapon is a potential threat to both the Soviet Union and its allies, and should therefore be wiped out. Catra agrees. Weapons like this have always scared the hell out of her, and they feel more like existential horrors than tools of war. Getting the chance to destroy it will be satisfying, and she’s spent a week drilling every available piece of information into her head so that she can stop the potential deaths of countless Soviets.

No big deal.

Catra has been on missions like this before, but she isn’t a big fan of them. A lot can go wrong in one night, she knows, and no amount of dedication or enthusiasm can stop that. Her research has been intense, and she’s even cased the compound a few times, as much as possible without raising suspicion.

And so now here she is, sprawling out on her couch, with less than two hours left before she begins her mission. Before one of the most dangerous things she’s done in her seven and a half years in America.

_I should eat something. I’m kind of hungry._

_Not enough time. Suck it up, bitch._

* * *

Catra’s suited up now, and she’s almost unrecognizable. The usual makeup across her face hides her freckles, her colored contact giving her two blue eyes. She’s also bundled up, sure to be safe from the biting cold. A mask covers the lower half of her face and protects her from the wind that’s sure to be blowing. She wears a black baseball cap over her mane of hair, which is tightly braided into something manageable that she forces down the back of her shirt. Not exactly comfortable, but out of the way, where it can’t be snagged or grabbed. A large, dark coat covers most of her form, and Catra figures from any reasonable distance she might even look like a man. Just to be safe, she wears a pair of combat boots with a slight lift; should anyone see her, the height difference could be crucial in not being identified after the fact. A high-level job requires a high level of dedication.

Across her back is a small bag filled with her tools for the job. Some plastic explosives sit right next to a container of gasoline. She’s not entirely sure how best to destroy this prototype, but figures she’s well-covered by “blow it the fuck up” and “burn it to the ground”. She’s also got some other tools like a miniature pair of bolt cutters, her trusty personal flashlight, and various other odds and ends for anything she might need to do. She pulls on some thick gloves, and gets ready to head out.

_Time to go save the fucking world._

* * *

Catra thinks there’s a mildly funny disconnect between that thought and the actual drive to get there, which is a bit tedious. Between locating the fresh car provided to her for the mission and making her way through the evening rush of traffic, it takes almost a full hour.

 _Way too fucking long for like, nine miles_ , Catra thinks bitterly. But she’d planned for this, giving herself two hours to get there. Cars break down, as she’s found out in the past.

It's completely dark when she arrives in Bethesda and pulls into a suburb about a mile from the facility. She needs to be close, but not so close that she gets caught before she’s even had a chance to do her job. She slips out of her car, looks up and down the deserted street, and sets off at a steady pace.

Within ten minutes of walking, she’s reached the outer fence of the compound, and walks perpendicular to it until she hits a spot just under the gentle rise of a small incline. It’s not as visible as the rest of the fence, and will serve as a good entry point.

Her scouting had identified several things about the compound, including this spot on the fence. She’d noticed that patrols, when they happened, tended to follow the fence line and treat the whole thing as a fortress with walls to be defended, rather than the secure zone it was all the way through. As far as she could tell, patrols rarely went near the actual buildings, and the enormous open space on the side she’s approaching from is similarly left alone. There’s long stretches of nothing at all, broken up by enormous helipads scattered around the field. Catra can only imagine why there’s this much empty space between the buildings and the fencing surrounding it all.

Her bolt cutters easily slice through the thick wire fencing. She cuts only the wires necessary for her to just barely slip through, seven in total. Once she’s made it to the other side, she uses some matte gray tape to attach the wire ends back together where she’d cut them, and soon it’s as though she never broke the fence at all. She knows if a patrol comes by and happens to look this way, they won’t think anything of it, and her infiltration will go undetected.

_First part down, great._

Catra allows herself a smile as she sets off across the wide field, feeling the rush of a job well done.

_Part of a job well done. Now get in there and destroy that fucking thing._

She’s about three hundred yards from the main building when she runs into a problem. Two figures appear out of a side door, briefly illuminated from behind by the light spilling from the facility. Catra’s vision is good, better than most, but at this distance she can’t make out much more. It must be a patrol.

_Fuck. What are they doing this close to the building?_

She drops in place and stays there, eyes trained on the roaming figures as best as she can in the inky darkness. They begin meandering their way along the side of the facility, headed away from where Catra lies, unmoving. She follows their progress as they approach the far corner, anxious for them to disappear around it and give her back her freedom of movement.

_C’mon, c’mon…_

There!

The figures round the corner and Catra picks herself up and runs silently to the side of the building, right near the side door they’d emerged from. When Catra looks closer at the door, she can’t believe her luck. It’s propped open, ever so slightly. A small rock sits deliberately between the doorframe and the metal slab, giving her fingers about half an inch of purchase.

 _Fucking idiots,_ she thinks. She could have made her way inside using her tools, but she much prefers this way.

Just as her hand slips in between the door and its frame, she hears voices, faint, but coming her way.

_No no no no…_

She rips her hand away and drops to the ground again, using the darkness as cover. She realizes a beat later that the voices are coming from around the corner, where the patrol had disappeared to. They’re fairly loud too, maybe not a patrol after all? It doesn’t matter though, because Catra’s on the move. She pushes away from the wall and heads toward the field again, turning around to face the building just as the two figures appear around the corner. She drops for a third time, but now…

_Way too close to the building. They better not be coming back to this door._

They follow the wall again, retracing their slow steps to where the door waits.

_God dammit._

Heart beginning to race, she starts crawling even further away from the building, as much as she can make it before they get close enough to spot her.

She makes it about ten feet. Crawling backwards isn’t doing her any favors, and now Catra knows she can’t move. They’re much too close. Close enough that she can even make out their conversation now. The shorter of the two is a woman, with a kind of shrill voice that belies the ferocity of her words. She’s speaking to her taller companion animatedly, letting her hands move around a lot to emphasize her points.

“... didn’t think they’d actually have half of the crazy shit everyone says. I mean when are we even going to use this stuff? We’re not even in a real war!”

They’re about seventy-five yards away.

The taller one speaks up. “I’m just glad we get to look around at all. That much paperwork? I thought for sure we’d get the runaround. I’m still not seeing anything here though, and most of this stuff is just experiments. Why would the Soviets want to target somewhere that’s just developing prototypes? We’re not going to use any of this stuff, like you said. It’s just weird is all.”

Fifty yards.

“Maybe it isn’t them. Maybe Adora was right.”

Adora.

The name is like ice water dumped on her head.

_Adora._

Down her spine, making every inch of her skin tingle.

They know Adora.

She gives the approaching figures a closer look, much easier now that they’re--

_Twenty-five yards, fuck._

Her eyes have adjusted to the near-total darkness, and she can see just enough to know that these people are familiar to her. She’s been told all about them, quite enthusiastically over drinks and during runs. She knows the almost-glowing hair, the pretty face. Recognizes the dark skin, the broad frame. Adora’s descriptions of them are seared into her brain, as is almost every word she’s ever spoken from those pretty lips…

_Now? Not good timing, dumbass._

Yes, she knows these two.

These are Adora’s partners, Bow and Glimmer.

 _No, not just partners,_ she reminds herself. _Friends. Best friends._

_These people mean something to her. Unlike you._

But there’s time to think about Adora later. Right now, she needs to think quickly. They’re almost to the door, and maybe they’re just going to--

Glimmer turns her head suddenly, eyes snapping to a spot about ten feet to Catra’s left. She looks intently, and Catra holds her breath. She knows her coat covers her completely, making her blend into her dark surroundings.

But they’re so close. They might be able to make out her shape, a lump on the ground that doesn’t belong…

“Glimmer? What’s wrong?”

“I thought I saw something, but maybe…”

She trails off and Catra dares to hope she’s in the clear. Then Glimmer takes a step toward where she’s laying.

Catra has no time, she needs to act now if she’s going to have the upper hand here--

Catra pushes herself off the cold ground, standing up quickly and pulling out her gun all in one fluid motion. She aims it right at the FBI agent.

Glimmer instantly stops in her tracks. Two paces behind her, Bow is frozen on the spot. Catra’s fully upright now, and she begins to back up, slowly, putting just a bit of distance between herself and the enemy.

She’s about twenty feet away from them when she comes to a complete standstill.

A flick of her pistol, and Glimmer gets the message. She moves back, standing even with Bow. They both have their hands up.

None of them makes a sound.

For a while, Catra stands there, listening to her own heartbeat. It’s loud enough to hear through her jacket, or maybe she can just _feel_ it--

_Steady. You’ll be fine._

Catra knows there’s no way out of this without talking to them. She has to speak with Bow and Glimmer, while holding a gun to them.

There’s a thousand thoughts screaming through her head right now, and she takes a split-second of her valuable time to analyze her options.

Her mind instantly conjures up an image of Adora, smiling.

_Not now!_

But she realizes it’s her instincts. She _needs_ to think about Adora.

Adora is her mission. If things are to progress with her, then they’ll be getting even closer. And Bow and Glimmer are Adora’s best friends.

_I might meet them someday. Outside of work._

Her main form of communication is instantly crossed off her list. No speaking. They’ll know her voice for sure, if or when they meet. Which leaves…

What, exactly?

She’s running out of time now. Both of their hands are still up, but they’re fidgeting slightly. Throwing each other sideways glances that seem to contain entire conversations. They clearly know each other well.

_God, if only I could do that right now. C’mon, think…_

Adora again, during a morning run. Her eyes dark.

“ _Sorry I’m late today, they’ve got me learning Russian. Stayed up all last night, it’s honestly kind of kicking my ass…”_

They know Russian. Or at least, they’re learning it.

That’s it.

A slight twinge in the back of her mind as she weighs this possibility. During her training, she swore an oath not to speak Russian while in the United States. She was to completely become Catra Álvarez, who didn’t know the language in the slightest. Her instructors told her anyone could be listening, it wasn’t safe. She’d promised. It was to protect her, she knows. But she doesn’t need protection from that right now. She knows what Bow and Glimmer do, and it’s plain from every searing moment that they stand here, exposed, vulnerable, that they know what _she_ does.

But they don’t know who she is, and Catra has to keep it that way.

She makes a split second decision, and opens her mouth to speak.

_“Zdravstvuyte,”_ she rasps in a cold greeting. Her voice sounds odd even to her ears. As Catra, her voice has been perfectly crafted through years of research and practice. A wonderfully sultry, expertly made American accent. But speaking her native tongue, her voice is deeper, less smooth, and she places a different emphasis on some of the higher sounds. To someone inexperienced in telling the two languages apart, she could be speaking with a totally different voice right now. She prays that’s true.

Glimmer and Bow give each other another look.

Bow’s the one to speak up, his voice gentle. “Are you… Russian?”

 _“Da.”_ She keeps her phrases short, unsure how much they know. _“Vy amerikantsy. Kak vas zovut?” You are Americans. What is your name?_

She really hopes this will work.

Bow mutters something under his breath. Translating, maybe? Then his face lights up, a small grin despite the situation. “Yes! We’re Americans. I’m Special Agent Williams, and this is Special Agent Moon. Are you.. going to hurt us?”

Catra shakes her head exaggeratedly, making sure the movement is visible through her layers.

Glimmer speaks up, voice much smaller. “Why… are you here?”

 _“Amerikanskoye oruzhiye. Unichtozhit.”_ _American weapon. Destroy._

This one takes them a moment, and yet another glance is shared between them. Bow nods, like Glimmer’s said something out loud. Catra has a flash of admiration for these two; they’re really good at this. Then Bow turns back to Catra, and says, “It was you who broke in a few weeks ago. You’re coming back to.. destroy one of the prototypes in the facility?”

Catra gives another nod.

_Thank fuck this is working._

_I don’t know to what end, though._

She decides it’s important to clarify one thing.

_“Dlya moyego naroda. Chtoby zashchitit ikh. ”_

_For my people. To protect them._

Another moment passes, and they understand. She can see it on their faces.

Glimmer again. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, “Why haven’t you just shot us?”

Catra doesn’t know the answer to that question.

She thinks about it for a moment, listening to the dull whistle of the cold night wind. She should shoot them. She should kill them and finish her mission and get the fuck out of here. But her finger is on the trigger right now, and she’s telling her finger to squeeze, to put a bullet in between Glimmer’s eyes, and she can’t. She lets her gun fall almost completely. It’s still aimed at them, but her arm is weak, limp.

_“Ya ne znayu.”_

_I don’t know._

Glimmer frowns at that, and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something. No noise comes out.

She asks a question Catra’s not expecting.

“You’re somebody, aren’t you?”

_What does that even mean?_

“I mean, you’re a person. You.. you’ve probably got a family. Someone you love. I guess... I’d never thought of that.” A beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”

Catra isn’t sure what to say. She turns to look at Bow instead, who has a complicated expression on his face.

“If we try to stop you, then you’ll kill us, right?” he asks.

It takes Catra a moment to remember that she’s supposed to be nodding yes.

_“Da. Nichego ne pytaysya.”_

_Don’t try anything._

“Well then…” Bow looks hesitant. He faces Glimmer, and they have one last silent conversation. This one lasts about fifteen seconds. _They must be having an argument_ , she thinks.

Apparently a compromise is reached, because they turn to her in unison.

Bow speaks first. “If we can’t stop you without dying, then we won’t try. It isn’t worth it. We.. made a promise to stay safe tonight. And nothing in this place is worth dying for.”

Glimmer chimes in. “Instead, you should just go. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I don’t want to fight you. _We_ don't want to fight you. If you leave, then we can just… pretend this never happened.”

“But don’t come back here. We’ll be upping security, and you won’t make it out again. Please, you should go.” Bow’s words are surprisingly tender.

_God, they’re just like Adora. They care too much._

But Catra knows this is the best outcome. From what she’d heard of them talking earlier, this place doesn’t so much develop actual weapons systems ready to be used as they do proof-of-concept models. Nothing in this compound is actually something that will see the light of day.

_Fuck! Why did they even have us come here in the first place? Completely useless._

But her mind settles for a moment.

_I can explain this away. And if I mention that killing Adora’s best friends would have made her a way worse source, then maybe I can do this._

_Besides, The Center needs me. Weaver needs me. Nobody else does their dirty work like I do._

This is the push she needs.

_“Khorosho.”_

_Alright._

“Alright,” Bow repeats.

They stand there for another moment, until Catra thinks of something she wants to say.

_“Otlichnaya rabota.”_

“Good… job?” Glimmer asks, translating in real time.

_“Vy khorosho govorite na russkom.”_

_Your Russian’s not bad._

Bow smiles at that, and replies, _“Spasibo.” Thank you._

Catra gives a small smile back, though it’s hidden underneath her neck gaiter.

Ever so slowly, Catra backs up. Her steps are deliberate, and calm. She’s a good ten yards out from them now, still weakly holding her gun at her side. Twenty yards. She fixes Glimmer and Bow with one last look, and then holsters her pistol and runs, _runs_ for the hole in the fence, runs away from this doomed mission, away from… kindness. They’re showing her kindness.

And despite it all, Catra is grateful.

* * *

Catra lays in bed, unmoving and wide awake. Her mind wanders where it pleases, asking questions she knows she can’t answer.

_Why didn’t you shoot those idiots?_

_Was it for Adora?_

_Was it for yourself?_

Her inability to pull the trigger stays in her mind, taunting her. She’s never seemed to have a problem with that before.

She was nineteen when she first learned to take a life.

She’s killed eleven people in total, and she remembers every single one. Some of them still haunt her. Others she’s not too broken up about. This isn’t new, and it certainly shouldn’t affect her anymore. So why does it seem to?

Her mind works like this for hours, going in circles, always circles, with never-ending questions that all have the same answer.

_I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…_

She’s drifting off to sleep now, heavy eyelids winning their battle and sending her tumbling into a nightmare.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

**_1979_ **

She finds herself in a familiar body. It’s her own, from seven years prior. She’s 24, and she’s been in America for five months.

This nightmare is always the same, a horrifyingly familiar feeling as she inhabits her younger self.

She walks down a hallway, dimly lit.

A door at the end of it.

_Don’t go in there, please, don’t, you can’t…_

But still she moves forward. Her gloved hand rests above the doorknob. She’s got a knife held firmly in her other hand, clenching it like a lifeline.

She pushes open the door, and hates what she sees.

It’s a simple room, with a few chairs and a man inside. It’s a police officer.

Her mind has long since blocked out the details of this particular mission, with how badly it had gone wrong, how she’d lost her gun and had to rely on nothing but a knife to survive…

She’s never entirely sure how she ends up here, facing down this cop in an empty room. But she is sure that he’s about to glance up at her as she enters, and then lunge for a radio that sits on a table a few feet away. She’s even more sure that she dives forward to stop him, and tackles him to the ground.

It all plays out exactly as she remembers, the details branded into her mind, always there, always a reminder.

He kicks her off of him, and she knows her rib is bruised. A flare of pain in her side. From the floor, he reaches up his hand wildly, grabbing at the table for the radio that’s only a foot away. Catra recovers quickly, and uses his distraction with the radio to throw out her arm in a wide arc, slashing at him in a panic. She misses, but gets his attention. He turns and launches himself onto her, his bulk threatening to crush her.

_No, no…_

But she can’t look away. Can’t move or control any of this, control herself. It’s already happened.

Her arms are pinned to her sides, and she thrashes around, yelling and unable to move almost anything. The cop reaches up a huge arm to put around her neck, holding her in place and slowing her breathing. It can’t end like this, it can’t..

She breaks her arm free, and slams her hand down on the floor where she knows her knife fell. She grasps the handle, and brings it up in a powerful motion, plunging it directly into the side of her opponent’s neck.

His arm loosens around her, and an uncomfortable scream escapes from his mouth, otherworldly and haunting.

He’s not done yet, and his arms fly to his neck, where he rips out the knife and makes so many cries of pain, but Catra knows he’s made a fatal mistake in doing this.

He’s still on top of her, and blood is gushing out of his wound, cascading like a waterfall down into his uniform, onto the floor. Right into Catra’s face, into her eyes. She’s bathed in red, stiflingly hot and sticky. It’s in her mouth as she cries out, it’s on her hands as she pushes him. Pushes him off of her, with as much strength as she can muster, a cry of exertion as he crashes to the floor.

He’s still moving about, clinging desperately to his last moments of life. A pool of red forms beneath him, coating his hands and his knees as he crawls around on all fours, slipping and yelling even as his life leaves his body.

Catra gasps for air, drenched in his blood. It’s all over her face, covering every inch of her. She scrambles upright and away from where he lays, limbs moving weakly.

She stands there, sucking down air, watching her fallen opponent. After a minute and twelve seconds, he stops moving. She leans down to grab her knife and to check that he’s really dead. The moment she makes contact with the other side of his neck to search for a pulse, he spasms, his whole body twitching with the ghost of nerves still doing their job after death. The twitch of his body makes her scream, and instinctively she plunges the knife down into his chest, directly into his heart. She lifts it and stabs again, again, again, until it’s obvious that nothing more will happen. He’s dead, well and truly.

Catra falls backward. Tears stream down her face, impossible to notice as they mingle with the sticky blood that still coats her cheeks, her mouth, it’s _everywhere..._

And she cradles herself, knees pulled in close to her body. She sways ever so slightly, allowing herself a moment of horror, of grief at what she’s done. Silent sobs wrack her frame.

Catra feels every moment of this. Trapped in the memory.

She was so scared.

She was in a strange place, with a strange name and a strange mission.

She knows whatever this was, that she’d have been found out the moment the cop touched that radio. That’s the fact she clings to every time she relives this moment. She had to do it, or she’d be dead.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, but eventually, blessedly, the memory fades, and she’s awake.

* * *

She gasps and flails her arms, looking around for her opponent, for someone to fight, but… there’s nobody. Not anymore.

_That fucking dream._

_I hate that dream._

She flops back down into her pillow, and tries to empty her thoughts. It doesn’t work.

She thinks of her pretty neighbor, who glows when she smiles and flirts like an idiot. She thinks of two FBI agents, who might not be so bad.

Her mind finally finds a second of peace, when she thinks of Glimmer and Bow.

Their encounter was a lot of things. Scary, tense, frustrating. But also hopeful.

She thinks a new thought now, the opposite of regret, the opposite of the horrible memories she keeps reliving.

Catra’s glad she couldn’t do it. She’s glad she didn’t kill them.

She rolls over on her side, and closes her eyes. She embraces this moment of peace, and lets sleep wash over her.

She doesn’t have a single dream the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In just under a week, this story has reached over 1000 hits, and over 100 kudos. I am blown away by the response to this story, and I want to thank everyone who's been reading and following along. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, with all its plot. It's the biggest chapter so far, and was a bit of an undertaking.
> 
> I also hope you'll all enjoy my new and solidified update schedule, where I'll be posting new chapters on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's read my story, and please leave comments if you can! I read them all and appreciate every bit of feedback on my work, and I love engaging with you guys!


	6. until you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora learns about Glimmer and Bow’s strange encounter. Catra watches TV, and a giant box interrupts an important conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Happy Wednesday! Hope you're all doing great :)
> 
> Please enjoy chapter 6!

**_Adora_ **

Adora comes into work the next day, feeling refreshed and ready to go. After last night’s three hour punching session at the gym, she’d headed home and passed out immediately, sleeping deeply and restfully.

What she doesn’t expect when she gets to the office is a flurry of activity. 

Agents she doesn’t even know are running down the hall, and everyone seems in a rush. Well, everyone except Swiftie. Adora is stuck behind Swiftie as they make their way through the halls, stopping occasionally and holding her up.

Swiftie is slower than anyone else in the department, maybe in the entire FBI. They usually spend their days meandering the building, never in any particular rush but getting where they need to all the same.

Swiftie doesn’t seem to be affected by the mayhem that’s grabbed the rest of the building by the throat. And why would they?

Swiftie is an enormous box on wheels.

It’s a Mailmobile, a robot designed to deliver mail; a cart about six feet long, four feet high and two across. The entire side of the robot is made up of compartments for mail, holding paper and transporting it across the building, all day long. It beeps at folks in the way, and rolls along on pre-set routes, following trails in the floor.

The department has fondly named the robot ‘Swiftie’ for it’s decidedly not swift method of travel. Nevertheless, it’s a favorite in the office. The beeping often makes for a good laugh, and it’s sometimes genuinely helpful, with the less confidential papers of the department being carried around without the need of any people. It may be slow, but people are attached to the thing.

And so Adora awkwardly shuffles along behind Swiftie, burning to reach her floor and find out what the hell is going on. She hopes it doesn’t have to do with Bow and Glimmer’s investigation last night.

A hope that’s much too naive, as she soon finds out.

Inside their usually quiet office, there’s a whole host of people, packed in almost to bursting. Adora recognizes some big names, including their boss, their boss’s boss, and someone she knows is an activity director of a coordinating agency. Whatever happened, it must have been _big._

Just then, her supervisor comes over, helping her out as she’s unclear where to go.

“Ah, Special Agent Gray. Come in, come in. We’ve been waiting for you. Your team has a lot of work to do today.”

She lets herself be led past the bigshots from other departments and agencies, and into the familiar sound-proofed room where her and her partners have been working for the last month and a half.

Inside, Glimmer and Bow are pacing, looking anxious and tired as hell. The moment Adora sees them, she rushes forward to give them a big hug.

“Guys! What’s happening? Are you two okay?”

Glimmer gives her a tired smile, and says, “Yes, we’re fine Adora. Now can you please let go? You’re gonna crush me with your muscles.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Bow glances at the other people in the room, though it’s much less crowded in here.

“Yeah, of course. Everyone in here already knows.”

They sit down, and Adora stares intently at Bow as he delivers the news.

“Adora… last night when Glimmer and I were looking around the ADE compound, we.. ran into someone. They were Russian.”

A small moment of silence follows that statement. And then Adora can’t help but ask some questions. She starts off slow, unsure of where to go.

“You… saw a Russian. How do you know they were Russian?”

Glimmer chimes in. “They spoke to us. In Russian.”

“They actually spoke with you? Jesus, how close were they?”

Bow says, “About twenty feet.”

Adora narrows her eyes slightly. “Are you… did you.. I mean, you guys are okay. But you were that close to a Russian spy. Are they.. Did you guys kill them? Or, or capture them?”

Glimmer shakes her head. “They were holding a gun to us. The conversation wasn’t long, and they didn’t speak a word of English. Personally, I think that was deliberate. There’s no way an illegal can be over here without speaking flawless English, so they must have known who we were, in general. Known they shouldn’t be that careless with identifying traits. Speaking of identifying traits…” She trails off, looks at Bow.

Bow sighs before he says to Adora, “We don’t know anything about them. I think it’s safe to say they were a woman, but… that’s it.”

Adora doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean that’s it? You had to see them, right? Something, anything about them? About her?”

Glimmer speaks again, her voice even more tired now. “Adora, it was almost pitch black. She was twenty feet away, and wearing a huge dark coat. I couldn’t tell you her build, her size, anything like that. I know she was around 5’8”? Maybe? But everything else was obscured, I mean. Dark baseball cap. Neck gaiter covering half her face. Gloves. We don’t know what her skin color was, eye color, hair, anything. She was good.”

Bow speaks up, clearly with something he feels the need to interject. “The weirdest part was… she was kind of nice.”

Adora’s voice goes high-pitched at that. “Nice!? She held you at gunpoint! That’s, she isn’t-- this is crazy!”

Glimmer laughs just a bit at that, and says, “Adora, we’re fine though! Remember? We’re totally okay. And I have to admit.. she wasn’t what I was expecting. I mean, hell, she told us our Russian wasn’t bad. Just said that! And she was… well she seemed kind of… sad. She said she was at the facility to destroy an American weapon. She said… she said she was doing it to protect her people. Not for her country, but for them.”

This makes Adora pause. She can relate to that. Quite a bit more than she wants to admit.

_I wonder if she’s like me. Maybe she’s doing this because she doesn’t have a lot of other good options._

“Okay, so… that’s it? That’s all you know?”

Bow nods. “Pretty much. When she said she was there to destroy a weapon, it didn’t take long to put two and two together. She confirmed it was the Soviets who broke in a few weeks ago, though I still don’t understand why they’d target somewhere that just makes, you know. Models, prototypes. None of that stuff is even going to get used. I asked her what would happen if we tried to stop her, and she said she’d kill us. Though, Glimmer did outright ask why she hadn’t shot us…”

Adora looks between Glimmer and Bow, anxious for the answer. “Yeah? What did she say?”

Glimmer looks up, and she actually has tears in her eyes. “She said she didn’t know.”

Adora closes her eyes for a moment, letting her head rest in her open hands.

“So… what. She just. Left? Got away?”

“No, we let her go.” Bow says. “When she said she’d kill us if we tried to stop her, we told her it wasn’t worth it. That she should just leave instead, and act like it never happened. It was the only way to protect ourselves and even get all this info back here. She agreed, and then just… took off. That’s everything we know about her.”

Adora absorbs all of this in silence.

She takes a deep breath, and starts off slow.

“Well, whoever she is, I don’t care right now. I’m just so glad you guys are okay. You made the right choice.” She gets up to wrap them both in a hug again, and she can feel tears threaten to spill from her eyes.

After a few more minutes of catching up, they set to work. Glimmer and Bow have already given official statements on the incident, and they spend the rest of the day filling in anyone else who needs to hear the story. That includes a disappointed sketch artist who comes up with absolutely nothing, and other random department heads with some adjacent projects. After the other agencies have been filled in, people slowly file out. The buzz of the morning fades as afternoon rolls around, and soon the office is back to being quiet.

The three of them are left in the secure room to do a bit of wrap-up, and then all of them are sent home; Bow and Glimmer for rest after a late night and early morning, and Adora because she can’t do much without her partners.

“Take the rest of the day, approach it with fresh eyes tomorrow. You all need your rest. And good work out there, Williams and Moon. You did good under pressure.” Their boss pats each of them on the shoulder, and they all make their way out of the building, exhausted.

* * *

It’s a Sunday evening now, a week and a half later. Adora sits next to Catra at their favorite bar. They’ve made a habit of getting drinks out every weekend and talking about anything their minds can think up.

Adora loves these days, looks forward to them so much, especially now that work is so tough she’s had to bring things home just to stay on top of it all.

Catra’s letting out her high-pitched laugh at something Adora just said, and she savors the sound. She looks at Catra while she laughs, studies her face. She follows the smooth line of her jaw to where it meets her neck, follows that even lower…

Catra’s finally done laughing, and she returns to a neutral position, a smile still on her face, mirth dancing in her mismatched eyes. 

_She’s so pretty._

Her eyes flick down to Catra’s hand, resting on the bar. She feels the urge to grab it and lace their fingers together.

_Slow down there, girl._

“Love the outfit, by the way.” Catra purrs. Her eyes lazily drag up and down Adora’s frame, taking in the acid-wash jeans and the slightly-too-big sweater. Adora can feel Catra’s gaze on her, and it makes her shiver. “But you’re wearing shoulder pads even in a sweater?” Catra asks.

Adora blushes at this, but then she thinks for a moment. _Wait._

“Catra, I’m not wearing shoulder pads.”

Catra just gives a quizzical look, and pokes Adora’s shoulder curiously.

“Holy shit! You’re actually just that buff! God, that’s so cool..”

Catra stares down at her own smaller frame, a frown on her face.

_Huh. I wonder if she’s self-conscious about… not being ripped?_

_But I’ve seen her when we run, she’s in super good shape! Absolutely nothing to be self-conscious about!_

“Hey, you’re not so bad yourself! I mean, you’re…”

Adora trails off. She might have just said something dangerous. Their flirting has been obvious, comfortable even, but how would Catra react if Adora outright told her she’s gorgeous?

_I’m gonna guess badly. Especially because we’re in public._

But Catra interrupts her thoughts with her usual smirk and a quick comeback. “I’m what? Smokin’ hot? I know, I know, no need to even say it, Gray. I see the way you look at me.”

Catra says it all in a mocking voice, her tone not particularly serious. But she’s looking Adora in the eyes when she says it, and she looks _very_ serious.

_Oh, god. Is she…?_

Adora is flustered, not quite sure how to respond. She clears her throat, looks somewhere else, anywhere but into Catra’s beautiful eyes…

A stray thought crosses her mind, and she leaps on it, desperate.

“It’s my birthday today.”

Catra’s face lights up, and she leans over and lowers her voice a bit.

“Oh yeah? Why didn’t you tell me? How old are you turning?”

Catra wiggles her eyebrows at that, poking fun at the question so many people dread hearing.

Adora sighs for just a moment, and says in a small voice, “You already know the answer. I’m 33.”

Catra pulls back from their little faux-secretive talk, and throws back her head in a laugh once more. “Oh shit, sooomeone’s an old woman!”

Adora just lifts an eyebrow, and says calmly, “Well, I guess we can’t all be babies like you. Too bad.” She takes a pull of her beer as Catra blushes and looks away, caught off guard by the comment.

“I’m, two years doesn’t, wha-- I am not a baby!”

Adora just smiles into her drink, not turning to look at the flustered mess she’s reduced Catra to.

“Whatever you say, Álvarez.”

_I win._

* * *

**_Catra_ **

After Catra’s aborted mission, Weaver was uncharacteristically quiet. Their meeting hadn’t lasted all that long, really. When Catra delivered the news about the FBI agents and her narrow escape, Weaver’s face was blank. Always unreadable, always a mask. Catra made sure that Weaver understood the mission was bullshit from the beginning, made her understand how silly it was that The Center even decided it was a threat.

_“It was nothing, okay? It’s useless shit they’re developing because they’ve got money. They’re never gonna use it. Drop it.”_

Weaver hadn’t reacted to that either. The only words she said were, _“Get out.”_ in a low voice once Catra was finished speaking.

Catra had left in a hurry.

But that was a week and a half ago.

Catra hasn’t gotten any communication from Weaver at all, until this morning. A simple message was delivered to her, instructing her to be at a local park by three in the afternoon.

_Meeting in public, that’s good. At least I know she’s not gonna kill me._

Catra’s nerves are getting to her at this point, a horrible accumulation of doubt and dread.

_Was the excuse good enough?_

_Does she believe me?_

_What is she actually going to do about it?_

Catra’s not naive enough to hope for it to all blow over, but it has been a while…

_Maybe she actually agrees with me that it was a waste of fucking time._

It would be the first time they’ve really agreed on something, sure, but Weaver’s smart enough to know a poorly thought-out mission when she sees one.

When Catra arrives in the park, she’s not sure what to expect from her handler.

The sun is still shining weakly in the gray sky as Catra walks up, wrapped in a coat. Weaver is sitting on a bench, nonchalant and natural. _As if,_ Catra thinks.

She drops down on the bench next to Weaver, and without turning to look, says, “This better be good. It’s freezing.”

Weaver doesn’t betray anything yet, still with a cold mask of indifference on her face. After what feels like an eternity, she opens her mouth to speak.

“You’ve disappointed me, Catra. You’ve been assigned two simple tasks over the past months, and you’ve gotten nowhere. Don’t think I don’t notice…”

Catra isn’t entirely sure where this is going. _Two tasks?_

“You’re weak, just like I always said. Why on earth The Center has chosen you as their go-to operative over the last few years is beyond me, really. If it were up to me, you’d never have ended up in the States.”

Catra’s ears ring with familiar insults. Her face is calm, but underneath it her pulse pounds, and she seethes at the barbs.

Weaver looks over at Catra now, and sees no reaction. She continues, needling Catra with her words. “You’d never have made it during the War, you know. The weak ones like you were always a hindrance. You have no idea what we did in those days… what we were required to do. _I_ made it through, but you…”

Catra can’t stand it now. She can feel her cool exterior beginning to crack. Did Weaver really bring her all this way just to hurl abuse at her? Weaver keeps going, sensing it won’t take much more. Her words are candy coated as she says, “Really, Catra. You’ve barely been managing these simple tasks, I’m not sure how much more you can take. Have you been sleeping well? You don’t look so good…”

Catra snaps.

“Enough! What the fuck is this, anyway? Some sick power trip? I didn’t ask to be The Center’s go-to, and frankly it’s getting pretty fucking annoying. I do what they ask, you know that. Why are you being insufferable, huh? Is it because I failed back in Bethesda?”

A stray passerby gives her an odd look, but shuffles off quickly when Catra glares at them.

Weaver drops her pretend-sweet voice, and turns fully toward Catra.

“Of course I’m not mad about your recent failure, Catra. I understand you did as well as you could for someone of your ability.”

Catra fumes.

“What I’m most disappointed in is your lack of progress with Adora… You’re getting nowhere with her, wasting opportunities…”

Adora.

She’s getting tired of this. Ever since Adora showed up, Weaver’s been more and more interested in the idea of using her for information, almost grooming Adora _through_ Catra, reaching out to her and ensnaring her like she’s done to so many others over the years.

Catra would much rather leave it the fuck alone, befriend Adora and keep it there instead of risking detection with some stupid mission that won’t even get them anywhere. Of course, she doesn’t have much of a say.

“I’m working her, and it takes time. She’s my fucking neighbor, in case you hadn’t noticed. What do you expect in a month and a half?”

“I _expect_ you to be doing your job… I suppose it’s foolish of me to think you could be anything other than worthless. I really have nobody to blame but myself.”

Catra actually laughs, a humorless sound meant to get her point across more than anything.

“Oh, are you kidding me? Give me a fucking break. Face it Weaver: I’m the best there is, the best you’ve got. There’s not even anyone else over here like me, with my experience. Who else are you going to have do this? The fucking message runners? You’re just bitter because I have the experience you never did. I’m the best active agent right now, and it drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

Weaver is silent.

“You need Catra Álvarez, because there’s nobody else who’s going to put up with this shit. And certainly nobody else who’s as good at this as I am. I thought you would have figured that out by now. But you’re just a deluded old woman.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs over them, a nervous energy in the air.

_God, I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s all true, fucking bitch…_

When Weaver speaks again, her voice is devoid of much emotion, a deadly warning.

“You are to cultivate Adora as a source within two weeks. I think you’ll find she has information in her house. I know you’ve been avoiding breaking in for fear of detection, but I suppose you’ll just have to be better, won’t you? Use her trust, and get into her house. If you don’t, I’ll know. My patience won’t last forever, Catra.”

Catra looks Weaver in the eyes, her gaze cold and determined.

“Fine. You’ll get your info. I’m taking those two weeks and running with them, though. I told you this takes time, and I don’t think things are ready. But I’ll do it. Just like I always do. Take it or leave it.”

With that, Catra gets up from the bench and walks away.

* * *

It’s a week later, and Catra is still shaken by her meeting with Weaver. She’s been dreading the task laid out before her, really taking her time thinking about what to do.

She could just go during the day, when Adora’s at work. Adora’s gone an awful lot, and really, this isn’t such a big deal. Search her place. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.

But Catra can’t. Every time she thinks about it, she runs into a roadblock. Some horrible vision of a blonde girl, laughing gently and smiling that soft smile...

It’s too much.

Instead of worrying about Adora, she lazes around on her couch. She has another week. It’ll get done.

It’s a little after 11, and she has some time before she makes lunch. Or doesn’t make lunch. Her appetite has been suffering again. Bored, she flicks on her television.

She’s greeted by images of a Space Shuttle, perched on a launch platform, some technical chatter in the background.

It’s the Space Shuttle _Challenger,_ and there’s about twenty minutes before it takes off, a ticker along the bottom of the screen says.

Catra sits up, actually interested. She and Adora had talked about this, it must be the 28th today.

 _There’s supposed to be a teacher on board,_ Catra thinks. She remembers the excited edge to Adora’s voice when she talked about it.

Catra’s seen a few American space missions on TV, but she knows this one’s special. She’s heard people mention it, seen it on the news occasionally. It feels like a sort of collective effort, sending an average American up to space. It’s a neat concept, and one Catra finds herself excited about.

She turns up the volume and leans forward, taking in the technical jargon and the wide shots of crowds who’ve turned out to watch.

Catra becomes engrossed in the coverage, grateful for the distraction, and before she knows it, it’s time for launch. A grin creeps over her face. She hasn’t been this worked up about something on television since… probably forever. _Well, maybe when Reagan got shot,_ she thinks dryly.

She's on the edge of her seat, completely enthralled. A countdown begins, and her eyes are glued to the screen. Catra has always thought the space program represents the best of what this country has to offer. Sure, it costs a lot, but they seem genuinely interested in exploration and learning. Catra thinks those are pretty admirable qualities, especially in comparison to what America does back here on Earth.

_Ten, nine, eight..._

The countdown gets closer and closer to zero, and the main engines are on.

_Four, three, two, one…_

“And liftoff! Liftoff of the 25th Space Shuttle mission and it has cleared the tower!”

Catra’s own cheering mingles with the voices on the TV as the shuttle ascends into the sky.

She watches intently as it climbs higher, the technical audio of the control center coming through now.

“ _Challenger_ now heading downrange.”

Catra falls back onto her couch, still smiling a bit from the successful launch. She watches the screen, the blinding white thrust of the booster rockets. The technical jargon continues, the shuttle’s path evening out now, and then--

There’s a plume of white smoke where there shouldn’t be… and a fireball.

Two trails of smoke form, the booster rockets detached and on their own. Debris rains down to the ground far below.

Catra’s mouth falls open, watching the destruction.

_No, it's just.. it’s just a technical issue…_

“...Obviously a major malfunction.”

The news reporter says the word ‘explosion’, and suddenly Catra understands.

_They’re dead. Those astronauts just died._

The TV keeps making noise, but it doesn’t matter. Catra is stunned.

_I just watched seven people die. That teacher just died._

Catra doesn’t think she can handle that information. Not on top of the stress she’s already dealing with. She stays there on the couch, unsure of what to do. She begins to cry.

* * *

Catra is roused out of her daze by the sound of Adora’s car pulling into the driveway. She lifts herself off the couch, still feeling a bit weak.

_Jesus, has it been six hours already?_

Catra glaces out the window to where her neighbor is getting out of her car, and decides she needs to see Adora. She shuts off her TV and goes to the door to put on a coat and some shoes.

She makes it about halfway across the street before Adora spots her.

“Hey, Catra. Are you.. are you doing okay? You look a little tired.”

“Yeah, I’m fine Adora. I just, uh. Yeah. Tired.”

Catra stands awkwardly at the edge of Adora’s driveway, wanting to say something or maybe move, but she doesn’t.

“I mean, if you’re sure. But I’m here to talk if you need, okay?” Adora says. _She’s always so sweet._

Catra takes a step forward, then stops herself.

“Actually…”

Adora takes a step forward too. “What is it Catra?”

Catra looks up into Adora’s eyes, and strengthens her resolve.

“Can I uh, can I have a hug? It’s been a day.”

Adora’s face lights up at that, clearly pleased that she can help in any way.

“Of course! Come here.”

Catra shuffles forward and right into Adora’s arms, and she lets herself melt just a little. She feels so safe, like nothing more could go wrong.

They stay there for a while, not saying anything. It’s a comfortable silence, and they understand each other in that moment. Catra grabs handfuls of Adora’s coat and doesn’t let go.

After a while, they pull apart slightly, Adora with a sad smile on her face.

“Hey, let’s go inside okay? It won’t be quite as cold, and we can sit down.”

Catra just nods, and lets herself be led into Adora’s house.

Once they’re inside, they shed their shoes and go to Adora’s living room, setting themselves down on the couch.

“Okay,” Adora says. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Catra swallows and takes a breath.

“I mean, did you hear the news today?”

Adora knits her eyebrows a bit, and nods.

Yeah, I did. It’s so sad… all those people.” Her voice is gentle. “Were you.. did you have a chance to see it while it happened?”

It’s Catra’s turn to nod, though she doesn’t say anything else for a beat.

“I just… we talked about it, you know? We talked about them. I was so excited to actually see it. A teacher in space? She’s a normal person you know, I just. I thought that was so cool. And now it seems like the entire country is just.. sad. It’s so weird.”

“I get it,” Adora says. “I wasn’t expecting.. it was a bit of a shock, to get that news at work. We didn’t get a lot done after we heard about it, honestly. And now everyone knows. It makes me sad.”

Catra is quiet for a moment, and then says, “I’ve never really felt that connected to all this, you know?”

Adora looks at Catra, curious. “Yeah? What do you mean?”

“I mean that I haven’t always felt the most patriotic. Or that attached to things like the space program, or these other big moments we have as a nation. But this is different. It feels personal, somehow.”

And it really does. Through her vague absorption of the news coverage she forgot to turn off, she saw statements and speeches, had listened to President Reagan give his words of encouragement. Through it all, one thing was clear: this is a uniquely American tragedy. And Catra is not American. Or maybe, Catra Álvarez is American, but _she_ isn’t American…

She’s not sure one way or the other, at this point. She lives here, works here, and now even mourns here. It’s her life. She works for her people, for the Soviet Union, but she hasn’t been there in seven and a half years. Hasn’t been _home_ in seven and a half years.

_Is it still home? Was it even much of a home to begin with?_

It’s impossible to say. All she knows is that she’s feeling very connected to the day’s events, despite the fact that she’s not even from this country.

 _Maybe I’ve been here too long,_ she thinks. And then, _maybe that’s not so bad._

Adora looks at Catra softly, as if her words about patriotism describe her too.

“I know what you mean. Really. Today’s been a lot. For everyone.”

She leans forward to give Catra another hug, impossibly gentle. “But we’ll make it through. We’ve got each other’s backs, we’re all Americans.”

Catra’s heart beats loudly in her chest. Whether because of the close contact with Adora or the tingle she gets when being called an American, she doesn’t know.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

The week of the _Challenger_ disaster leaves everyone feeling strange. Adora’s work has been subdued, and when Friday rolls around, everyone is just anxious to leave.

Adora sits in the secure room with Bow and Glimmer, papers spread out on the table in front of them. A board behind them has every scrap of information they have on the Soviet agent; there's only three pieces of paper stuck to it. They’re supposed to be brainstorming about Adora’s hunch, but none of them seem to have the energy. It’s the end of the day and things have completely lost steam. Bow is doodling on some scrap paper, and Glimmer leans over his shoulder to watch and make comments. Adora is off to the side, and she can feel a headache beginning to form.

_Just what I need. Great._

Her mind wanders a bit, listening to her friends speak in low voices about nothing at all. Despite the stresses of her job and the entire week, Adora finds her thoughts drifting to Catra.

She can’t stop thinking about their hug from a few days prior.

_She seemed so… small. I’ve never seen her like that._

She thinks about the smell of Catra’s hair as she held her tight. About how soft Catra’s skin is, and how close they were sitting on the couch.

She finds she wants more of that vulnerability, wants Catra to come to her when she’s upset, not just when she wants to laugh.

She looks up at her friends, and feels the need to fill them in.

“Catra came over the other day.”

They both turn to look at Adora, and Glimmer has a mostly blank expression on her face when she asks, “Oh yeah?”

Adora nods. “She was upset about, you know. And she came over and asked for a hug.”

Glimmer smiles at that, and Bow lets out an, “Aww!”

“Sooo… what did you do then?” Glimmer asks suggestively.

Adora frowns exaggeratedly. “Glimmer, I didn’t do anything. We didn’t do anything. She was sad.”

“Well, too bad.”

“I, what does that mean? It was sweet! We hugged and it was cute! That’s good, right??”

Bow smiles and says, “Of course it’s good Adora. I’m really glad you two are getting closer, it sounds like you’re starting to mean something to each other.”

“But you _could_ mean something more…” Glimmer says in a small voice, giving Adora a knowing smirk.

Adora huffs at that, flustered. “Oh, oh, oh, I know Glimmer! I’m taking things slow okay? You know this is delicate! Not everyone is cool about this stuff like you guys! I mean c’mon, we’re in here talking about this, you think we could be out _there_ and say this?” She gestures to the door, behind which lies the rest of the office.

Glimmer just sighs and says, “Okay, point taken. I still don’t see why it’s a big deal anyway. To them, I mean. I know why this is a big deal to you, Adora, and I am glad things are going well. All I’m saying is if you’ve been telling things like they happen, then she _definitely_ likes you. Take it from me, that’s how girls act when they like other girls.”

Adora raises an eyebrow, and it’s her turn to be smug. “Oh yeah? Is that so?”

Glimmer blushes a bit, but brushes it off and just says, “Yes! It’s so clear she’s got the hots for you! The outfits, and the fucking flirting? You guys get drinks every week, I mean, you’re practically dating!”

Adora just rolls her eyes. “Yeah but it’s not like that… not yet, at least. I think that’s where things are headed but I’m just not sure how she feels about, you know. Women. I mean, flirting is one thing but actually going for it is another, you know that.”

Adora’s had several failed relationships in the past, and Glimmer and Bow have been witness to all of them. They know firsthand just how willing some people are to lead Adora on with no promise of anything besides loaded words and lingering glances.

If this is gonna happen, Adora needs to be sure.

“Yeah, we know that.” Bow says gently. “And I’m sorry things have been like that. But it really sounds like you guys have a connection. Just, take things slow like you want, but keep us posted. I’m willing to bet something will happen soon.”

Adora smiles, and nods. “You’re right. Thanks guys.”

They all go in for a hug, and when they pull apart, all of them simultaneously glance at their watches. They notice, and giggle together. They’re eager to get the hell out.

Luckily, it’s close enough to quitting time that nobody gives them a second look when they pile out of the secure room and start packing up their things.

The trio heads for the door, and makes their way through the hallways to the elevator.

One last thought about her hunch comes to Adora, and she walks closer to her friends and lowers her voice.

“I just had a thought. If this actually is true, and they’re getting communications through the Russian Embassy, then what the fuck do we do about that? That’s international relations, stuff we can’t touch with our unit. I know we’ve got clearance for all sorts of things after your run-in at ADE, but we can’t just accuse a whole country’s embassy of something like that without hard proof.”

Glimmer looks thoughtful, and they stay silent as they pass a few other agents.

She speaks up when the hallway is empty. “I agree. That’s why this might be tough. We’re backing you up here, but I say you should prepare for the possibility that this goes nowhere. You know how these things are.”

They’re in the elevator now, and Adora presses the button for the ground floor a bit too aggressively. There’s a pleasant tone and the doors begin to slide shut.

Bow nods at Glimmers words, and adds, “Glimmer’s right. We’ve got your back, but for now I think the thing to do is just take some time to think about an approach, I know you’ve got some ideas jotted down back at home, maybe look it over every hour or two just to see if--”

Bow is cut off as the elevator doors reverse direction and start sliding open again. All three of them instantly fall quiet at the possibility of someone else joining them.

The doors part just enough to see who their intruder is, and they’re greeted by… Swiftie.

The mail robot lines itself up with the open doors and slowly wheels inside, beeping at the trio to move. All of them shuffle to the sides of the compartment and flatten themselves against the walls as the giant cart joins them. When Swiftie has settled into place, the doors slide shut again and all three of them look at each other, the absurdity of the situation setting in.

Adora lets out the first laugh, and gives Swiftie an affectionate pat as her friends join in, giggling over their interrupted conversation.

They reach the ground floor, and the doors slide open again. Swiftie wheels out slowly, beeping loudly at the few people gathered outside waiting for a ride to the top floors.

Adora, Bow and Glimmer nearly fall out of the tiny compartment, finally having the freedom to move again.

They push out of the front doors and into the chilly evening. They walk close together and finish their conversation.

“Okay, like I was saying…” Bow says. “You’ve got your work at home, give it a look every so often to refresh your mind. If something comes up, just jot it down and bring it in whenever works. I’m sure we’ll think of something. Remember, we can pull some extra strings now. Who knows? We might be able to do more about this than you think.”

Adora nods in confirmation, and says, “Got it. Okay, I’m heading out. I’ll uh. I’ll keep you two updated on the other thing, too. Thanks again guys.”

They say their goodbyes, and Adora’s heading to her car. She flops herself down into the seat, and tries to gather herself before driving home.

Thoughts of her gorgeous neighbor mingle with mental images of dozens of papers and notes, all the info they’ve gathered on the Russian Embassy.

Her heart skips a beat when she remembers she’s getting drinks with Catra again tomorrow. She’s excited like always, but now Bow and Glimmer’s words hang heavy in her mind. Should she make a move? Does Catra really feel the same way?

She lets out a sigh.

_This is gonna be a long weekend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These ladies are crushing extremely hard, aren't they?
> 
> Also, the most important character has finally been revealed: the mail robot, Swiftie!! Mail robots are an extremely interesting oddity from days gone by, and they were very real! You can find an article with some fun info about them (and also a bit about their inclusion in The Americans) right [here!](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/mailmobiles-mail-robots-technology-retirement)
> 
> As always, please leave a comment with feedback and reactions! Until next time ;)


	7. i'm not going home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra self-destructs. Adora finds a cat in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday everyone! Hope you're ready for a fun chapter ;)

**_Catra_ **

Catra wakes up, and immediately wishes that she hadn’t.

It’s Monday morning, and today is officially her last day to do something about her Adora problem.

She’s really not sure how much she can get away with in terms of direct disobedience of Weaver’s orders, and she’s not willing to find out. That means she’ll have to break into Adora’s house _today,_ whether it’s convenient or not.

The thought doesn’t exactly help Catra kick-start her day.

She’s slept in late, probably too late, delaying the inevitable as much as possible.

With a sigh, she rolls out of bed to make her coffee; _some_ thing’s gotta get her through all of this, and it certainly won’t be food. Her poor appetite has only gotten worse as her deadline approaches, and she thinks she’s had maybe two meals in the last week. The beers she’d had with Adora on Saturday may have been the last thing she drank.

Coffee it is.

_Whatever happens, at least it’ll all be over after today._

Catra immediately rolls her eyes at that. Of course it won’t be over. Infiltrating Adora’s house is just the beginning of what Weaver seems to expect will be a prolonged and profitable relationship.

Catra’s not so sure about that.

Still, she finds herself going through the motions. She’s taking her usual brief shower, brushing her teeth. Throwing on some clothes, and even doing a bit of makeup, just to feel better about her darkened eyes. She’s starting her day, almost against her will. Her mind is utterly torn on this simple task, yet her body is ready and willing to carry her through the necessary preparation.

 _Fucking traitor,_ she thinks bitterly.

It isn’t long before she’s run out of tasks to begin her day. She’s found an end to the mundanity, and now must embark on a terrifying journey… across the street.

_That’s all this is! You can fucking do this._

Her roadblocks have gotten worse as well. Roadblock being the term she uses to describe the twinge of guilt when she thinks of what she’s going to do. Really, she doesn’t want to be doing this to Adora. Not when they’re…

_When we’re what? We’re nothing. She’s nice to you because that’s who she is. And you’re nice to her because you’ve got a fucking mission. Get it together._

Regardless, she can’t shake the feeling that this is a massive violation of trust.

_Adora did this to you, remember? She did this exact same thing, the second day you ever met. She’s no better._

It’s a weak justification, and she knows it. Adora’s the one in the dark, the one being deceived by Catra’s very existence, her presence here in Adora’s life. She breathes lies, and Catra knows all Adora was doing was being safe. Doing what she thought was right.

_This isn’t the same. You’re breaking what you have by doing this._

_Oh yeah? And what the fuck do we have? Some bedroom eyes and matching sad childhoods? Get over yourself, you bitch._

Catra is surprised to find that her own words actually hurt to hear. Some part of her, deep down, senses the connection she has with Adora.

_This isn't just a mission. Admit it. That’s why you can’t go over there right now and do some basic snooping._

_No, I’m conflicted because this is complicated. If she knows I’ve been there, I could be killed. When Adora came over here, she had no way of knowing that I could kill her too. But I know, and I still have to fucking do this. Now shut up._

Her warring thoughts calm down a bit, finally sated after having a chance to fully battle it out. Catra recomposes herself, puts on a brave face, and begins to plan her break-in.

First, she needs to take stock of the tools she has and what she might need for the job.

She wants to take as little as possible and get back out as quick as she can. She locates a warm coat, and begins to stuff the pockets with the bare essentials.

A few lockpicking tools and some gloves go in first; she follows that up with her miniature camera, and figures pictures are the best way to record any potential info or notes Adora might have. A tiny notepad and a mechanical pencil are last, just in case.

_Okay, that should be what I need._

She briefly considers a disguise, mostly out of habit.

_No, that would be pointless. Just going across the street. Plus, the neighbors probably don’t think it’s weird to see me going over there at this point._

_Oh, god, I wonder if they think we’re…_

She cuts off that thought, and instead focuses on making a plan of entry.

The front door is the obvious choice. If she looks confident enough and picks the lock fast enough, it might even seem like she has a key. No odd potential questions from neighbors about snooping in the backyard.

_Yeah, that’s good. Just act like it’s normal, and nobody else will give a shit._

Satisfied with that plan of action, Catra puts on her coat. She glances at the clock, and curses to herself. It’s 4:14 in the afternoon. She groans out loud, hyper aware of her own fucked-up sleep schedule. She’s wasted way too much time on nothing, sleeping in and delaying her fate; she has to go _now._ She grits her teeth and walks toward the door. Her shoes are on. The door is open.

_Time to burn some fucking bridges._

* * *

Once she’s stepped out into the cold winter day, she pulls on her gloves and shoves her hands into her pockets. It’s a short walk across the street, but it feels like it takes a lifetime as Catra’s mind begins to fight with itself again.

_So that’s it, huh? You’re actually gonna do it, just throw away this woman’s trust?_

_I don’t have a fucking choice. It has to be done._

_Whatever you say. But what could Weaver even do if you decided you’d had enough?_

Her mind doesn’t have a retort for that. She clenches her jaw and keeps walking.

She’s at the sidewalk in front of Adora’s house now, and she swiftly makes her way up the drive and to Adora’s front door. Her hands work quickly, slipping out her tools and getting the door open in about twelve seconds total.

_Not bad. I fumble with my keys longer than that most days._

The door swings inward, and it’s done. She’s broken in.

Catra steps inside and closes the door behind her, taking in the familiar smell of Adora’s home. She steps quickly through the foyer, and is hit with painful memories as she looks around the open space of the house.

Just six days ago, she sat on that couch, being held in Adora’s strong arms as she wallowed in a sadness she hadn’t thought herself capable of. She looks to the dining room, where she’d really let herself flirt with Adora for the first time, laughing and bonding while she flashed meaningful little glances.

She isn’t sure what to do with those memories now. She pushes them aside and makes her way down the hall.

The layout of the house, which is shared with Catra’s own, has three rooms down the hall, plus a bathroom. Catra knows that one of the rooms has become something of a personal office for Adora, a space she has in her own house as well. She thinks that’s likely where any info is going to be, but she wants to check the other rooms just to be sure.

She starts with Adora’s guest room, and as expected, it contains little of value. There’s a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else. Catra checks underneath the bed and in the dresser just to be sure, and finds only some extra blankets and sheets.

_Nothing._

She backtracks and finds herself in the doorway across the hall.

Adora’s room is much more interesting. The bed here is also simple, with a nondescript headboard and a pleasant but forgettable pattern on the duvet. Nightstands flank the bed, and there’s another dresser up against the far wall. The room is almost bare, close to utilitarian, but it also feels… different. Comfortable. More lived in than the sparse guest room. There’s a picture or two on the walls, and the sunlight that reaches this room feels less cold, somehow more like a summer’s day than the seemingly-eternal winter of February.

Catra runs a gloved hand over the neatly-made bed, and allows herself a moment of weakness.

_I wonder what it would be like to sleep in this bed. With her._

Her hand lingers on the pillow, and she can faintly smell the product Adora uses in her hair. It’s sweet, maybe vanilla or some sort of flower. 

Catra inhales deeply, and savors the intoxicating scent.

Nothing in Adora’s room. She moves on to the office.

Where Adora’s room is tidy and simple, her home office is… a bit of a mess. Catra isn’t expecting that, and actually lets out a chuckle when she takes in the organized chaos.

There’s a desk and a chair, half-buried beneath papers and cardboard boxes. There’s lots of pictures on the wall to the left, framed images mostly of Adora and Glimmer and Bow. One of them has Adora in the center, getting a kiss on either cheek from her friends, and they’re all on the verge of laughter.

Catra gets a familiar pang of… something, when she sees Glimmer and Bow. Their encounter had been brief, but she has to admit they’ve made an impact on her. She’s paid a little more attention any time Adora talks about them. They sound like genuinely nice people.

Just inside the doorway, there’s a beat-up old pair of shoes, which Catra recognizes as the ones Adora sometimes runs in. Scattered around on the floor are half-opened boxes, clearly the remnants of Adora’s move that don’t have a permanent home quite yet. The wall immediately to Catra’s right has a bulletin board, upon which several notes are pinned. Some are almost totally gibberish, the scrawled reminders of an Adora in a hurry, whereas some are clearly written with more care. They seem to only say things like, ‘Bow recipe,’ ‘tires,’ and ‘new shoes’.

She scans the rest of the notes, and finds...

Catra.

It’s her name, written down just like everything else. There’s no indication as to what it means or what the intention is, and Catra can only guess.

 _To-do list, maybe?_ She smirks to herself.

The wall opposite the doorway has two windows, which are letting in faint rays of sun. Underneath one of them is a small filing cabinet, the kind that locks with a mechanism near the top. Catra zeroes in on this; if there’s anything useful here, it’ll be in this metal box.

She extracts her tools from her pocket, and sets to work on the cabinet’s lock. It’s old, slightly rusted and squeaking a bit with every movement from her pick. It takes more work than the front door, but eventually it clicks and she has full access. She starts with the bottom of the two drawers, and immediately finds something worthwhile. It’s sheets and sheets of scrawled notes, theories and questions and plans. Catra’s eyes go wide as she reads, and realizes what Adora suspects.

_Fuck, she actually knows about the Embassy? Or at least, thinks she does._

_Smarter than you look, Gray, I’ll give you that._

She quickly shuffles through the rest of the notes, and pulls out her camera once she’s certain there’s enough good info. This is definitely what she came here for, and Weaver’s sure to find it interesting.

There are nine pages in all, and Catra takes her time photographing each one. She wants to make sure the pictures are clear, and that she doesn’t crease any of the papers in the process.

It’s a painstaking two or three minutes, but she thinks it’s worth it.

After the last paper in the stack, she has everything she needs. 

She’s careful to put the notes back in the same order they were in, not wanting to raise suspicion of any kind.

Satisfied everything is exactly as she found it, she stands up quickly and shoves her camera in her coat pocket.

_Time to get out of here._

She creeps down the hallway, through all of her memories, and makes it to the foyer.

She grips the door handle like it’s a lifeline, and lingers for a beat before swinging it open and taking in the cold air. She makes sure to lock the door from the inside, and then clicks it all shut behind her.

Outside, it’s mostly dark.

_God, it took that long?_

Catra glances at her watch, and it’s 4:57.

_Shit._

She feels an even greater urgency now, totally unsure of when Adora could be home. The thought gnaws at her as she hops down off the front step and onto the connecting path to the driveway. She rips off her gloves and shoves them roughly into her pocket.

_You’ve really done this one to yourself, huh? Could have gone early in the morning and not had to worry…_

_Shut up,_ she growls to her thoughts.

She hurries down the drive and is just one step into the street when she hears it.

A car.

Adora’s car.

She knows the sound, hears it almost every day as it comes down the street and into the driveway. The driveway Catra just came from.

_No no no no no…_

She’s almost totally out of options. There’s no way she can make it to her house in time, Adora will spot her for sure, catch her in the act of running away from her house. That won’t do. Catra can only make it as far as the middle of the street, she guesses, before Adora is close enough to see her. An idea flashes into her brain and she takes it, desperate for anything to save her from this, from being discovered.

She runs as far as she’s able, only a few paces, but Adora’s headlights are almost shining on her now. She turns on the spot to face Adora’s house, shifting her direction of movement and taking a performative step forward. It’ll look like she’s left her own house, walking across the street _toward_ Adora’s house. Not ideal, but better than the opposite. It’ll have to do, because it’s too late for anything else now. 

Adora is pulling up right beside her, slowing down, and oh _god_ she’s gonna want to talk.

_You’re fine, she doesn’t know a thing. Play it cool._

Adora comes to a halt in front of Catra. Her window is rolling down. Catra’s heart is in her throat. Adora smiles, oblivious to Catra’s struggle.

“Catra, hey! Why are you uh, standing in the street? It’s fucking freezing!”

Adora’s face almost glows through the premature darkness of the winter evening, her smile playful and her golden hair a halo.

Catra opens her mouth to reply, but finds she can’t make words. She’s frozen for a moment, the adrenaline catching up to her.

“I… um,” she says.

_Real smooth._

_Nothing happened, it’s fine, remember? She doesn’t know._

“Hey Adora,” she tries again. She swallows the lump in her throat and leans down a bit, putting one hand up on the roof of Adora’s car as she gets in closer.

“I was just uh.. I was, coming over. I didn’t know when you’d be back, thought I’d see if you were in.” It’s a lame excuse, and ignores the fact that she never comes over unannounced. She always knows when Adora’s back by the sound of her car in the driveway. Catra screams at herself internally for the poor explanation, but Adora doesn’t seem to mind.

“Well hey, good timing! I’m here now! Hold on, let me pull in and you can come over.”

Catra supposes she doesn’t have a choice now. She pushes off of Adora’s car, watches as it settles into the driveway. She follows the car numbly, leaning up against it again when the engine is off, and watches Adora get out.

Her pocket burns where she knows her tools are, where the camera is.

_Fuck._

Adora looks at Catra now, raising an eyebrow. They’re only a few feet from each other, and Catra feels exposed.

“Catra, you look like you’re gonna die or something, what’s going on?”

_Don’t let it show on your face, moron!_

_Too late now._

Catra mumbles for a moment, unable to shake the awkwardness of it all. How vulnerable she is here…

“Um, yeah, I’m just so tired. I… didn’t get great sleep.”

Her voice is far from convincing, her usually sharp acting skills completely failing her. Adora can tell that’s not the whole truth, and she crosses her arms.

“Uh huh.. Are you sure that’s all it is? You’re acting weird. Are you feeling okay?”

She reaches out her arm and rests the back of her hand on Catra’s forehead, checking for a fever. She’s not sick, but the contact still burns her skin.

She stammers for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse, looking anywhere but into Adora’s pretty eyes, where she knows there’s concern…

Catra’s gaze instead lands near Adora’s hip. With her arm outstretched, Adora’s coat has fallen open just a bit, giving Catra a perfect view of her holstered weapon.

Her stammering stops instantly, her mouth hanging open. She looks back into Adora’s eyes, feeling even more panic creep into her mind.

_She could kill me, she could shoot me right here if she knew, if she found out…_

She manages to form a few shaky words.

“I’m… not sick. Not.. a fever.”

The smile that’s been on Adora’s face this whole time fades, and she drops her hand.

“Well, there’s definitely something wrong. Are you gonna tell me about it? You don’t have to, of course but you just… you look scared, Catra. I want you to be alright.”

_God, why does she have to be so fucking sweet?_

Catra’s mind races, trying to explain away her behavior. Her facade is crumbling, her usually cool demeanor now totally non-existent, all because of this _girl,_ because she’s scared of letting her down, scared of breaking her trust…

She needs a distraction.

Something that can explain away all of her behavior.

Something that gets both them to stop talking.

Catra’s last line of defense comes crashing down, and she allows all of her emotions to take over. No more thinking, no more hiding these terrifying thoughts, and no more running from her feelings.

She closes the gap between them and presses her lips to Adora’s.

It’s fast, too fast for either one to properly take it in. Catra breaks it off too early, and they pull apart.

She’s worried about Adora’s reaction, feels instantly self-conscious and somehow even more vulnerable now than she has been all night.

_Why the fuck did you do that why why why--_

But she looks up at Adora, and...

Adora’s face is one of reverence. Her lips are slightly parted, and her blue eyes almost shine when she looks at Catra.

There’s just a second of silence as Catra holds her breath, and then Adora’s the one to move. Adora’s the one to destroy the distance between them and press her mouth to Catra’s in a kiss, a _real_ kiss.

Catra abandons all of her doubts, all of her fears, and melts into it.

Adora brings up her hands, cradles Catra’s face as their lips are glued together, running her fingers gently up into cascading brown hair.

Catra moans into her, and wraps her arms behind Adora’s neck, pulling the two of them closer and deepening their kiss. She can feel Adora’s tongue now, gently searching for Catra’s, and she’s all too eager to oblige. She opens up and their tongues work against each other, hot and hungry and unlike any other kiss she’s had. Catra hears a soft whimper come from somewhere in Adora’s throat and _fuck._

She’s kissing Adora,Adora is putting a hand around her waist and pulling her even closer, _Adora_ is all she can feel and breathe and taste...

All thoughts of her mission are cast aside, all thoughts of that fucking camera in her pocket are gone. She doesn’t even care that they’re still outside, in full view of anyone who could drive by.

_Fuck it, let them see._

She’s surrendering now, overthrowing herself entirely to the woman in her arms.

They break apart for just a moment, gulping down cold air and taking stock of their situation. They touch their foreheads together, and Adora is looking into Catra’s eyes. There’s a clear question in her gaze, and Catra answers by pushing forward for another kiss. It’s open-mouthed and needy and a little sloppy, but she doesn’t care.

She feels a _wanting_ deep within her, some part of herself she’d locked away years ago, and for what? She’s here now, wanting with a force more powerful than any she’s ever felt, wanting _Adora_ more than she could have ever realized. It coats her in warmth, inside and out, a fire that could burn away her entire life in an instant. But she doesn’t care, she just needs this, has always needed this…

Adora attempts to pull away from Catra, trying in vain to say something, to ask her question out loud, but Catra follows her lips in a desperate attempt to keep this moment from breaking.

“Do you-- want--” Adora struggles to get out her words in between Catra’s insistent kisses. “Want to hav--”

“Yes,” Catra cuts her off, nodding vigorously. “Fuck, yes I do.”

Adora just lets out a breathy laugh and beams her gorgeous smile, replacing her hands on Catra’s waist and pulling her closer still. She presses their lips together again, slower and more deliberate this time. Catra doesn’t know how long they stay like that, with her skin on fire and an uncontrollable hunger awakening low in her core. Adora’s hands run smoothly from Catra’s waist up to her shoulders, down her arms, to Catra’s hands, until their fingers are laced together. Catra shivers, and it isn’t from the cold. 

_I don’t even care if this kills me. This is worth it, holy shit..._

Adora pulls back, and without breaking eye contact, begins to slowly walk backward toward her house, tenderly leading Catra along.

Catra’s breath hitches as she fully realizes what they’re about to do.

Is she really ready for this?

Her answer comes immediately and without hesitation.

_Absolutely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spy girls go mwah
> 
> I'm on Twitter, which you can find [here!](https://twitter.com/cheesybiscuit7)
> 
> Also, Lara_84 made some adorable fanart of Catra in a Russian uniform and Adora in 80s fashion. Go check that out [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013412)
> 
> As always, I love reading any and all feedback/reactions! Comment if ya want and I'll say hi :)


	8. keep your heart open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra takes off her coat. Adora gets a workout. Weaver gets what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content.
> 
> Please enjoy chapter 8!

**_Adora_ **

Patience has never been Adora’s strong suit. When she has a question at work, she wastes no time in voicing it. When she’s feeling something new, she blurts it out. Besides her job, she hardly focuses on anything for long, preferring instead to engage in short bursts of activity. Go running. Clean the house. Keep things tidy, make some food. Always on to the next thing, the next task.

But when it comes to Catra... none of that holds true.

Her neighbor-turned-friend-turned-flirt has utterly and completely upended Adora’s habits, all of her routines. Catra has infiltrated her life.

Catra has even destroyed Adora’s lack of patience, replacing it instead with a sort of anxiety, so potent that Adora is _forced_ to wait things out, afraid of messing up… whatever it is they’re doing.

Catra now occupies her mind almost totally, the hope of a new relationship weighing heavy on Adora’s optimistic soul. As the days have gone by, her feelings have been almost unbearable, but still she holds back. Afraid of that heartbreak that she knows all too well.

But she’s okay with being patient, at least with Catra. Bow and Glimmer’s words ring in her ears, and she knows that it’s best to wait this out, and trust that Catra isn’t going to lead her on.

She doesn’t have all that long to wait, as she soon finds out.

Adora is walking through her house, leading Catra by the hand. Leading her to her _bedroom._

Her mind is swirling with doubts and insecurities, byproducts of her fear, a fear that’s leftover from that time not even an hour ago when she was worried she might be making it all up. But everything has changed, and with every second that passes, with every beat of her heart, she shuts out her doubts and focuses instead on the electrifying contact between her hand and Catra’s.

She thinks she can hear her own heartbeat as she reaches the door to her bedroom. Just before she moves to step inside, there’s a tug on her arm. Catra pulls and reels her in for another kiss, no longer able to contain herself.

They move into the room together, lips locked, bumping into the walls and generally making a mess. Adora doesn’t care.

She lets herself run her hands through Catra’s hair again, feeling how wonderfully soft it is…

_We need to get in this fucking bed._

Suddenly, as if on cue, they both break apart. Without a word, they begin hastily kicking off their shoes and removing their jackets.

Catra takes a moment to fold her coat and set it down gently on top of her shoes.

Adora takes this opportunity to remove her holster and service weapon, holding up a finger to Catra as she puts it into a small safe under the bed.

When she turns back around, Catra slams into her, mouth right back on hers, tongue doing circles around Adora’s.

_Fuck, this is…_

She can’t even find the words to describe this feeling. Catra is in her arms, surrounding her and entangling her. Catra is the filter through which she now experiences the world, a lit firework held in her hand. Adora doesn’t know how to comprehend everything that’s happening, just knows that it’s real, that she isn’t being led on, it isn’t in her head... 

She tastes Catra now, sweet and dangerous and the answer to the question she’s been asking all her life. Her brain fails her while her instincts, her desires, take over. She’s _wanted_ this from the first moment she saw Catra walking towards her. Wanted to kiss these lips, wanted to hold her close…

They pull apart, and Adora feels the need to voice her thoughts, to ask Catra this half-formed question in her mind.

“Catra..” she says, breathing hard, “do you… want this? I mean, what does this.. What does this mean?”

Catra looks as thoughtful as she can with kiss-swollen lips and a blush on her cheeks. She says, “I don’t know, Adora. Truthfully. There’s no way I can go back now. I need to know what this is and I… whatever happens, I want this. Do you?”

“Yes,” Adora says immediately. “I want this. I want _you._ ”

They stare at each other for a moment, fully recognizing their mutual attraction for the first time, drinking it in.

 _I should never have worried,_ Adora thinks. _Wow._

Catra looks at Adora, and in her gaze there’s a familiar vulnerability, the kind that appears when she’s talking about her past. She reaches out a hand toward Adora and stops it in mid-air, holding it there.

“Can I…” she trails off. “Can I touch you, Adora?”

Adora can almost feel her pupils get wider.

She’s nodding, but no words come out, her mind not quite caught up to her body.

“Yeah,” she says finally, grinning as she does. “You can touch me, Catra.”

Catra closes what little distance there is between them, and her outstretched hand slips around Adora’s waist. Her other hand rests gently on Adora’s chest, and Catra looks up into Adora’s eyes.

_God, she’s beautiful…_

Catra presses a slow kiss to Adora’s jaw, pushing against Adora’s body gently until she’s moving backward. The back of Adora’s legs find her bed, and they fold as she falls into a sitting position, instantly becoming shorter than Catra.

Catra just grins down at her, clearly pleased with her new advantage. She steps in between Adora’s legs, moving them apart gently with her hands as she runs them up and down Adora’s thighs.

Catra briefly glances past Adora, a faint smile on her face.

Adora follows Catra’s gaze, and finds her staring at the pillow instead.

“Catra? What is it?”

Catra returns her attention to Adora, now fully grinning.

“Nothing,” she says simply. She holds her smile, and Adora’s smiling back now, an infectious energy settling over both of them. They giggle slightly at the heady feeling.

Catra tries to go in for another kiss, reveling in the height difference. But before she can, Adora grabs Catra around the waist and pulls, swinging her around until she’s sitting right next to Adora on the bed.

Catra’s voice gets high pitched when she exclaims, “What?! I wanted to be taller than you for once!”

Adora chuckles and says, “Hmm, but I think we should be on even ground, yeah?”

Catra raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Oh _yeah?_ ” Her voice takes on a dangerous tone when she says, “Maybe I didn’t want us to be.”

She shoves Adora on the shoulder, hard, sending her falling fully onto her back. Catra crawls on her hands and knees until she’s positioned right on top of Adora.

“That’s better,” she purrs.

_Jesus, who knew she’d be like this?_

Adora almost gives in to this side of Catra, close to melting under her molten gaze, but then…

Catra straddles Adora’s thigh, and begins to grind, letting out a soft moan.

_What is she doing?_

Adora’s voice has its own edge to it when she says, “That’s my job.”

Catra just keeps moving her hips, up and down Adora’s leg. There’s a smirk on her face. “And what are you gonna do about that, princess?”

Adora’s eyes flash, and she responds by rolling over with Catra in tow, to the other side of the bed, now on top of Catra instead of beneath her. Catra lets out a little yelp at the sudden shift in position. Adora smiles down at her. “That’s better,” she says in a low, mocking voice.

Catra just bares her teeth, but doesn’t have anything else to say. Her mouth quickly becomes occupied, working against Adora’s. In a small act of defiance against her lost advantage, Catra bites down on Adora’s lip, hard enough to hurt, and to make Adora moan in pleasure.

Adora runs her hands possessively over Catra, careful to avoid any sensitive areas. Her hand lingers near Catra’s waist, where her blouse is untucked.

_Oh, god…_

“Can I touch you?” Adora asks in a corresponding question to Catra’s. 

Catra gulps and nods, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

Slowly, almost painfully so, Adora allows her hand to slip underneath Catra’s blouse and just barely graze the soft skin of her midriff. Catra inhales at the contact, her eyes fluttering closed.

Adora lets her hand wander a bit more, pushing up the blouse a bit before carefully undoing the buttons, one by one. While her hand works, she places little bites against Catra’s sharp jaw, along her neck. She punctuates each new undone button with a lazy kiss to Catra’s lips. Catra seems to have lost her competitive edge, not that Adora’s complaining.

Her next kiss isn’t quite as lazy, instead open-mouthed and hot. Adora’s hand quickly releases the last button, and Catra’s blouse is free to fall open.

Adora’s lips fall slightly apart and she audibly inhales. Catra’s smooth skin is exposed now, her toned abs on full display. Adora returns her hand to Catra’s stomach, tracing lines into the skin, slowly working her way upward.

“Wow…” she breathes.

Catra chuckles. “What is it?”

Adora just looks Catra in the eyes, and says, “You.”

Catra’s pupils go wider at that, and she shivers a little underneath Adora.

Adora’s hands are still making lines, but she’s reached the edge of Catra’s bra now, hesitating. She knows what Catra wants, and is curious to see how much patience she has for things like this. Her fingers play up and around the bra, and Catra’s breath hitches at each movement. Eventually, Adora hooks one finger underneath the edge and tugs gently, clearly ready to move on. Catra raises herself slightly to help Adora unhook it from behind, and when it comes off, Adora can’t help but stare.

Her eyes drink in the soft brown skin before coming up to meet Catra’s lustful gaze. Then their mouths are together again, tongues sliding against each other, and Adora’s hands are finally where they want to be. She cups Catra’s breast in her hand, gently running a finger over her nipple, just to see the reaction.

Catra doesn’t disappoint, and moans in her raspy, throaty way, before fixing Adora with a determined gaze. The competitive look is back.

_Uh oh._

Catra bucks her hips up into Adora’s leg, attempting to relieve some tension and break whatever control Adora’s gained over her. Adora pulls back for a second, denying Catra the pleasure, and then quickly and roughly pins Catra. With her arm around her neck and her weight placed just right, she’s no longer just over Catra, she’s in complete control. Adora allows herself a smirk as Catra squirms and struggles to break free of the hold.

“Agh!” Catra snarls, and Adora just chuckles at her ferocity.

After discovering that she’s not able to overcome Adora’s strength, Catra goes limp and fixes Adora with that hardened, defiant look again.

“Good girl.” Adora says, her voice low and husky. “Don’t try anything else. Think you can be patient for me?”

Catra just laughs and growls, “What the hell, I’ve waited this long. Just don’t take your sweet time, Gray. You’re fucking killing me.”

Adora smiles, laughing while she says, “Oh, I’ll definitely keep that in mind, Álvarez.”

Her voice drops the playfully dark edge, and she adopts an earnest and open tone for a moment.

“But if this is too much, if you have to move or you don’t want this, let me know right away, okay?”

Catra nods, and says softly, “Alright.” She breaks the moment with a grin, and taunts Adora. “So are you gonna do this or not? Seems like you’re stalling, Adora.”

Adora responds by running a hand from Catra’s breast down to the line of her underwear in one swift motion, stopping just shy of where she knows Catra wants her.

“Okay then. Let’s get these pants off, yeah?”

Catra narrows her eyes, and her grin turns almost evil when she says innocently, “Sure thing Adora. But don’t you think you should take something off too? I mean, it’s only fair that I get a nice view too...”

Adora wastes no time ripping off her dress shirt. Literally. The buttons are ruined now, but she couldn’t care less if she tried.

“Deal.”

Catra’s eyes go even wider as she takes in Adora’s frame, and Adora knows she’s ogling her muscles.

“How about those pants, then?” Adora asks, her eyes not once leaving Catra’s.

Catra wordlessly lifts her hips and Adora’s hands work quickly, undoing the zipper with practiced precision.

Slowly, the dark jeans are pulled down Catra’s surprisingly muscular legs. Catra accommodates every tug from Adora, and they work together until the pants are completely off and tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Adora pauses for a moment to take in the sight in front of her.

Catra is left in nothing but her underwear, her face flush and lips swollen. Her freckles are almost illuminated against the blush on her face, her blue and yellow eyes lit up with desire and anticipation and challenge and every emotion Adora can name. She knows she could see the universe in those eyes, if she stares long enough. She certainly _wants_ to. But her gaze is instead drawn downward, drinking in every inch of Catra’s exposed skin, until she reaches the spot between Catra’s thighs. Against the material of Catra’s underwear, she can just make out a spot darker than the rest, and--

_Oh, god._

Adora’s pulse pounds at the sight of Catra’s arousal. She’s hyper aware of the heat now spreading from in between her own legs.

Adora knows she’s staring, transfixed by the woman before her. Catra has hunger in her eyes, and oh god, that look is just for _her…_

Catra speaks up, her voice shaky and just barely above a whisper. “What are you waiting for, Adora?”

Adora’s breaths come quicker now, her heart beating faster than it ever has. Her hand is moving down, _down_ until she can feel the damp of Catra’s underwear, and she revels in every little sound Catra makes. Gasps and moans, her eyes fluttering shut.

Adora discards the underwear and then her hands are moving, fingers curling and pumping, falling into a rhythm with the rise and fall of Catra’s chest. Catra has fistfuls of Adora’s hair, clenching and grasping as she works faster, bringing Catra bit by bit to her climax.

_Beautiful…_

“Beautiful,” Adora says out loud. The word comes out reverently, like Catra is a sunrise that Adora’s walked miles just to catch a glimpse of.

There’s no response from Catra, who’s much too busy shuddering, bucking, _writhing_ against Adora’s fingers…

Adora asks Catra what she needs, and they work together as one, adjusting to every gasped plea from Catra’s lips, every screamed expletive.

She’s worked up to the edge by Adora’s hand, moving with a singular purpose, and before long, she can tell Catra is close. Can tell from the arching of her back, the way her nails dig into Adora’s scalp, the beautiful sounds out of her mouth when…

“Ah! Fuck, Adora, fu-- ah, ah!”

As Catra comes, Adora slows her pace, helping Catra ride out the spasms that shake her frame.

“That’s it… you’re doing so well…”

Adora murmurs words of encouragement as her partner swears softly at nothing and everything. Twitches of pleasure still run through Catra’s body, making the muscles tense and release involuntarily. Slowly, she begins to calm, coming to rest with her head against the pillow, her breathing evening out.

Gently, Adora disentangles herself from Catra, and moves up the bed until they’re side by side.

“Good girl.” she repeats.

Catra, barely come down from her high, looks up at Adora with a dazed expression, and just says, “Shut the fuck up.” But she’s smiling, and she lifts herself enough to curl into her companion, head resting on Adora’s chest.

Adora just grins, the sight of Catra coming undone playing on loop inside her head.

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in each other’s company.

After a beat, Adora says in a smug voice, “That was fun to watch. I mean, those _noises…_ ”

Catra sits up with an indignant look, and scoffs a little.

“Wha-- oh, get over yourself. Not like you were _that_ good, Adora. More than a little cocky, aren't we princess?”

“I mean, you did kinda fall apart and like, scream a lot of stuff. Including uh. Including my name, so…”

Catra just laughs, a sweet, floating sound that makes Adora _very_ aware of her own arousal.

“Yeah, I guess I did…” She trails off, looking pleased. A wicked little grin appears on her features. “I’ll just have to fuck you so hard you make noises that are even more embarrassing. How about that?”

Adora’s breath hitches, and she unconsciously rubs her thighs together, a pathetic attempt to release some of the tension that’s been building inside of her all night.

She clears her throat. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah that sounds.. Good.”

Catra smirks, and there’s a different kind of challenge in her eyes now.

“You might need less clothes, if that’s gonna happen…” she purrs.

At those words, Adora works quickly to remove her pants, unhook her bra. She needs this _now._

Thankfully, Catra can sense Adora’s hunger. The second her clothes are off, Catra is on her, hands going wherever they want.

Adora’s been overwhelmed by sensation all night, but feeling Catra on her skin is something else entirely. Catra’s hands are skilled and smooth, and they seem to know exactly where to grab, where to wait. She’s kissing down Adora’s neck now, not slow and patient but hungry and needy, attuned perfectly to Adora’s thoughts. She reaches Adora’s breasts, and latches her mouth over a nipple experimentally, swishing her tongue and sucking lightly.

Adora hears shuddering breaths and little gasps, and wonders vaguely if they’re coming from her own mouth. She’s losing it now, her mind becoming lost in a haze as Catra works lower and lower.

Catra’s in between Adora’s thighs now, wavy hair pushed off to one side and lust burning in her gaze. Holding eye contact with Adora, she dips her head, lower, lower, _lower,_ until Adora can feel her hot breath... 

Catra smirks at something. _Probably my stupid fucking noises, dammit._

She fixes Adora with that defiant look again, and then licks.

It’s enough to make Adora tense up, grab fistfuls of the sheets and arch her back.

But now she’s aware of the noises she makes, and she won’t give Catra the satisfaction of hearing them again.

Catra’s mouth is doing wonders, filling Adora with heat and pleasure unlike any she’s ever felt. It’s incredible, it’s destroying her, _Catra_ is destroying her, one flick of her tongue at a time.

But Adora refuses to give in. She squirms and clenches and even _kicks,_ the feeling threatening to become unbearable. But still she remains silent.

Catra must notice, because she picks up her pace, grabs Adora’s legs and doesn’t even stop for breath as she taunts Adora, daring her to make a noise.

A white-hot flash of pleasure rips through Adora, from deep in her core and reaching out to every inch of skin in contact with Catra. Adora almost screams, opens her mouth in a yell that never materializes.

But she can feel another stab of pleasure building, and she doesn’t think she can do it, doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay quiet…

_Fuck, Catra’s gonna win and then--_

The wave of heat building inside of her crests, and it’s impossible. She can’t hold back.

“Catra! Oh fuck, Catra, yes! Ah ah ah Ca-- Catra…”

She relents, unable to resist Catra’s persistent coaxing and pleading.

She loses track of where she is, who she is, and all that matters in the world is that Catra just made her feel that way, that _Catra_ is the one whispering words of support and encouragement. Adora is untethered, completely gone when Catra comes up beside her, a gentle smile on her face and a slight glisten on her chin.

Catra crawls on top of her partner, laying herself delicately across Adora’s strong frame. She presses a slow kiss to Adora’s lips, sweet and salty.

She pulls back, and the fog in Adora’s mind pulls back too, just enough to drink in the look Catra is giving her. It’s not hard, or challenging, or even needy or filled with wanting.

It’s small, and open. It’s soft and tender.

She’s seen a lot of emotions cross Catra’s face, but none quite like this. She can’t remember the last time anybody looked at her like that. Eyes filled with care and warmth and…

Adora can’t bring herself to say the last word, but she thinks she sees it there in Catra’s gaze. An impossible emotion Adora thought she might never have all to herself, ever again. But here Catra is, and she seems to be giving it freely…

Adora loses her ability to focus, her moment of clarity slipping away. But she files away that look Catra gives her. Bottles it up, stores it inside of her, holding it close to her chest. That look is the start of something, she’s sure of it.

Adora’s head lolls back into the pillow, support from her weary muscles nowhere to be found. She lets out a breath, an exhale that seems to completely empty her. She melts and basks in this feeling.

Catra’s by her side again, curled up under her arm, hair splayed out across Adora’s chest. She loses track of how long they stay like that, content and comfortable.

Eventually, Catra extracts her head from the crook of Adora’s shoulder, and sits up just enough to see Adora while she talks.

Her voice is low and smooth when she says, “Hey, Adora. Welcome back.”

Adora chuckles at that.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Did you hear yourself?”

She waits until Adora has a blush on her face, and then leans in closer, and whispers, “I think I won.”

Adora finds she has no retort for that, no dispute to her claim.

“You know what? I agree. I can admit when I’ve been defeated, I’m a gracious loser. You win the first round, and I lose.”

Catra raises an eyebrow.

“First round?”

Adora just smirks, a look to rival Catra’s, and says “Think you can handle some more?”

Catra answers with a smirk of her own, and their lips collide, insatiable hunger returning to them in an instant.

 _Maybe it never left,_ Adora thinks. She’s not sure, and she doesn’t care.

She has a competition to win, no matter how many rounds it takes.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra wakes up at 5:39 the next morning.

She slowly blinks open her eyes, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. A spike of panic flares in her gut for a split second, before she remembers where she is.

She’s lying in Adora’s bed. She’s warm, warmer than she ever has been while sleeping. It takes her another split second to register the reason for that warmth: she’s curled up with her back against Adora, an arm thrown over her.

_Oh, yeah. I kissed Adora._

As she wakes up bit by bit, her senses return to her. She can feel Adora’s skin, can tell that they’re both naked.

_Okay, so maybe a little more than kissing._

Her memories flood back to her now, all of them pleasant. She hears Adora, gasping her name as she comes. She remembers Adora’s fingers, and how they felt exactly as she’d imagined they would. She remembers her sad attempt to start the evening with her usual routine, only for it to immediately be interrupted by this blonde idiot and replaced with something infinitely, achingly better.

A smile stretches over her face, and she shifts a little so she’s facing Adora.

Adora sleeps peacefully, gorgeous even with her hair tousled and bruises running up and down her neck, across her chest. Catra remembers how they got there, and blushes a bit to herself.

Why she’s gotten up this early, she has no clue. She’s perfectly content to fall back asleep, to cuddle closer to Adora and let every worry she’s ever had melt away.

She’s surprised by how easy it is to just… _be_ with Adora. How easy it is to exist around her comfortably, without a worry on her mind. With Adora, she’s just Catra. The neighbor. The friend. The American. It’s a refreshing change of pace, or maybe even some sort of revelation. Catra isn’t sure, just knows she likes it. Wants more. Wants more of _Adora._

She’s getting ready to doze off again when her eyes scan the room lazily. They fall on a small pile of clothes near the door. It’s Catra’s coat, folded neatly on top of her shoes.

Catra’s stomach drops.

Dread instantly fills her veins, and she tenses, seizes up when she remembers every detail of the previous night.

The camera. Weaver’s deadline. She _has_ to get this info out of here.

She glances again at Adora, asleep before her, hair like strands of gold. Catra’s heart clenches.

Her night with Adora was… incredible. It was like a piece of her she’d left behind, somewhere, in the vague hope of being a more effective tool, of better executing her mission.

She frowns slightly at that.

She didn’t just do this for the sex, she realizes.

_Although that was amazing, holy fuck…_

No, she wants to be close to Adora. Wishes, desperately, that this division between them didn’t exist. She wants Adora without the expectation of a mission, without the expectation of using her.

She feels guilty at that.

She silently slips out of the bed, and she transforms instantly, seamlessly, into Catra Álvarez. The non-existent woman. A vessel for lies and orders and violence.

There’s a small tug somewhere in her mind, a split beginning to form. It’s quickly pushed down by the fear that pulses through her, the need to grab that coat and _run._

She throws on her clothes as quietly as she can, finally ready to leave. Before she turns to the door, she looks once more at Adora.

Adora, the woman she’s placed her trust in.

Adora, who she’s unknowingly handed her heart to.

She brushes her lips on Adora’s cheek in the ghost of a kiss, and then she leaves without a sound.

* * *

It’s still early when she rushes across the street, back to her own house. She thinks she might have gotten an actual good night’s rest, falling asleep soundly in Adora’s protective arms. It’s probably the best sleep she’s had in months. She pushes the thoughts away. Right now, she has work to do.

Without even bothering to clean herself up, she gets in her car. Her camera is still there in her pocket, where it’s been haunting her for hours and hours now. She knows the info here will be enough to get Weaver off her back, at least for a while. Might even get Weaver to excuse her lateness. Not like anything can really be done about that, not when Catra’s made it clear where she stands in relation to every other Soviet agent in this goddamn place.

It only takes around ten minutes to get where she’s headed; this early, there’s almost no traffic on the road. She pulls up to the curb, a familiar townhouse filling her vision. Despite the urgency of the situation, Catra still takes a moment to breathe in deeply before leaving the car and walking up the steps.

She knocks, knowing Weaver will answer it.

 _Does she ever fucking sleep?_ she wonders idly.

Right on cue, the door swings open and Catra’s greeted by the disapproving look of her superior.

She wordlessly moves inside, doesn’t bother to sit at the table.

“Catra, you’re late… again. I gave you two weeks to retrieve any information Adora might have, did I not? Those two weeks expired yesterday. So what are you doing here?”

Catra removes her coat, hands it to Weaver.

“Camera,” she says, as if it explains everything.

Weaver narrows her eyes and then snatches the article of clothing from Catra’s grip. She rummages in the pocket and emerges with the tiny camera, and just stares questioningly at her subordinate.

“I don’t suppose you want to fill me on what this means?”

“I got your fucking info. Adora suspects the communication channels out of the Embassy. I don’t know much more, but there’s nine pages of notes and theories. Gotta be some useful shit in there somewhere. Happy now?”

Catra isn’t expecting any praise for this task, but is hoping that she can get the hell out of this building, leave behind what she did and not have to hear about it again.

 _Maybe,_ she thinks guiltily, _even go slip back into bed with Adora, before she notices I’m gone._

Her foolish hopes are dashed immediately when she sees Weaver’s face. Once again, it’s stoic and unwavering.

In a funny sort of way, the kind that isn’t very funny at all, Catra reflects that she’s gotten quite good at reading Weaver’s unreadable expression. Studying the rest of her, the barest hints of body language or the way her coat hangs off of her. It helps to make sense of her face, the one thing that never seems to change.

Weaver’s unreadable expression today is one of disappointment, and…

_Anger? What the fuck does she have to be angry about?_

“You always were such an insolent creature.”

_Oh. Me._

“I can’t even seem to trust you with simple tasks, and yet you claim to be the best in this business. Let me ask you Catra, have you ever thought about home?”

“Home? I don’t understand.”

“Since you’ve been here, all these years, have you ever really stopped to spare a thought for your home? Where you came from?”

Catra thinks for a second.

_Is this is a fucking trick question?_

“Sure I have. You know that. That’s the job, isn’t it? It’s all for home?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on right now, even as we speak?”

Catra racks her brain. Has she turned on the news lately?

“We’re still in that goddamn war, if that’s what you mean. Those poor fucking boys are dying in Afghanistan, for nothing. Is that what you want me to say?”

Weaver sighs, less exasperated and more dangerous.

“How very typical that you’d frame it that way. We’re doing important work in Afghanistan, not that I’d expect _you_ to be able to see that. You’ve never cared much for home, have you?”

Catra chuckles dryly. “Oh, yeah? Look around you, old woman. What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? Is my job a joke to you? The shit I do for you every day, for The Center?”

“You always were easily distracted. I should have known America was only going to be an escape for you.”

“Esca--? Just tell me what you mean, for once, will you? I’m tired. I had to work to get that info.”

Weaver gives Catra a critical once-over. “So I see. While you’ve been struggling to deal with my simple orders, the rest of us have been dealing with a new problem. The Party’s leadership has been… straying, lately. If you’d have paid attention, you would know that could mean big changes for… us. For your work.”

This jogs Catra’s memory, back to twenty days ago when she’d seen something on the news.

“Gorbachev’s reformist policies. You really think his shit with the nukes is going to affect us? Here? Sounds like he just wants to make sure we don’t all blow up. Fine by me.”

“It goes deeper than that, Catra. Things are beginning to become… strained, at home. The Center worries we won’t be able to count him as our ally much longer. He pays us lip service in public, but things are more complicated now than they’ve ever been.”

“You sound like a fucking traitor, you know that?” Catra growls. She isn’t sure where this conversation is going, and feels put off by how… _casual_ it is. Weaver’s throwing barbs, but she’s speaking with Catra as if they’re a unit. As if they don’t hate each other’s guts. It’s making Catra nervous.

“I’m merely stating that change may be coming soon. Catra, do you really think that you will not be affected by these things? You may tout yourself as the best there is, but that comes with certain… attachments. I admit that The Center sees you as a valuable asset. One-of-a-kind, even. The Party values your contributions here. Even Gorbachev himself.”

Catra feels a shiver run down her spine.

_The Party leader knows who I am? Fuck, you are in way over your head…_

She finds she doesn’t have much to say, just furrows her brow and waits for her handler to continue speaking.

“This puts you in a delicate position, you understand. You are known to them, because you do, regrettably, produce results. You… _we,_ need to be careful going forward. Your missions may be changing, and what The Center decides to do about this shifting landscape is your business as well as mine. Like it or not, Catra, you _are_ The Center.”

Catra heaves a sigh, grits her teeth.

“I know who I am, Weaver.”

_Do you?_

“And I know how to handle change. The KGB can do whatever they want, as long as I stay busy. You have my talents, now use them.”

Weaver is finally silent for a moment.

“You should continue to sleep with Adora. Find out anything else you can. But from now on, this will be a long-term arrangement. Lie low and maintain the connection. Runners will let you know any additional instructions.”

Catra begins moving toward the door, eager to leave. She makes it two steps when Weaver grabs Catra’s arm, a surprisingly strong grip around her bicep.

“Just remember Catra, that your work affects everyone at home. Everything you do is of the utmost importance… It may behoove you to act like it.”

Catra tenses, narrows her eyes at Weaver, and breaks free of her hand.

“You’re right. _I_ do the work. Maybe it would behoove _you_ to act like it. How about that?”

She pushes past Weaver and she’s finally out the door, breaking free of that stuffy room.

The door shuts behind her and she breathes in the cold morning air, a welcome reprieve after Weaver’s eternally stifling presence.

As she walks to her car, she thinks about some of the things Weaver had said. The idea that Gorbachev might know of her directly was only momentarily shocking, the news that his reforms could throw a wrench into her work merely an annoyance.

What really caught her off guard was the insinuation that having sex with Adora is somehow a part of… _this._ That it’s something as vulgar as the work she does. She resents the idea of toying with Adora directly for the sake of… what, exactly?

_I got those notes without playing with her feelings. That has to count for something…_

_Right?_

* * *

**_Adora_ **

Adora’s eyes snap open at 6 in the morning, her alarm waking her with a familiar buzzing. She sits up right away, adjusting immediately to wakefulness, just like she always has.

She feels the vague sensation of warmth, and turns her head excitedly, expecting to see Catra in bed next to her.

There’s nobody.

Adora’s face goes blank, and a sliver of doubt creeps into her mind.

_Even after a night like that, are things just going to be…_

She finds she can’t bring herself to think it.

_No, you have to have faith in her. You weren’t making it up, remember?_

Adora draws her knees to her chest, lets her hand rest beside her, where Catra must have been not even thirty minutes ago.

_Maybe she’s scared. It’s not every day you hook up with your lesbian neighbor/best friend._

She decides that must be it. She spends a few minutes taking in the warmth still left in the sheets, enjoying her memories of the night before.

Eventually though, it’s time for her to get up. 

As she leaves the protection of her bed, she feels a slight frown tug on her features.

She’s disappointed that she didn’t get to wake up to Catra’s freckled face.

She was looking forward to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, what a fucking chapter. What did you all think of Catra and Adora's night together? How will Gorbachev's reforms affect Catra's work? What's Adora going to think of all of this?!
> 
> As always, I wanna hear your thoughts!!
> 
> I've made a Spotify playlist for this fic, which you can find right [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Kf6QRsK3BQWfjRXbjzfgN?si=S67c4Dd8QUWLVzttEIRbkA)


	9. we're the good guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora cares too much, and Catra dares to ask a question. Meanwhile, a critical failure back home leads to unforeseen consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, hope you all are well!
> 
> Please enjoy what will probably be the fluffiest chapter of this fic!

**_Adora_ **

That morning, Adora skips breakfast; she’s not sure if she can stomach anything.

Instead, she jumps straight into a hot shower, a feeble attempt to replace Catra’s warmth. As she gets herself clean, she feels the ache in her muscles, in her core. She groans, knowing she’ll have a reminder of Catra all day long.

She spends just a bit too much time scrubbing herself, and emerges feeling raw and chafed. She shrugs off the feeling, slips into some professional clothes, and begins putting her hair up in a simple bun.

As she works the strands into a more manageable shape, her mind flashes to a memory of the night before. She remembers how her hair had been an anchor for Catra as she fell apart under her fingers…

_I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do that again._

The thought makes her sad.

Her hair is up, and she’s just beginning to apply some basic makeup when she hears it.

A knock on her door.

Her heart begins to beat faster. She knows it can’t be her. But she wonders.

She drops what she’s doing and rushes to the door, wishing, _daring_ to hope...

She grasps the handle and turns, pulls.

There, looking disheveled and tired, is Catra.

There are dark spots under her eyes, and she somehow looks thinner than she did the night before. Her hair is tangled and knotted and her lips are still bruised, evidence of the night they shared.

She’s the most beautiful thing Adora’s ever seen.

Adora just holds her breath, going numb. She’s unable to say anything as Catra stands before her, looking sheepish.

“Hey, Adora.”

Feeling returns to her, and she can move again.

“Catra, I-- where-- I thought you--”

Her words are cut off by Catra, who rushes forward and captures Adora’s mouth in a desperate, breathless kiss. Adora melts into it, relieved at this opportunity, one she was beginning to think she might not have again.

They pull apart slowly, reluctantly, and Catra’s gaze is apologetic. They stand there for a moment, before Catra speaks up.

“Adora, I’m sorry.”

“Catra I’m the o--”

“No, listen. Really, I’m sorry. I was… scared. I thought that… I didn’t want…”

Even from Catra’s sparse, stumbled words, Adora thinks she understands.

Catra pauses, and takes a deep breath.

“Adora, not everyone is… I mean, fuck. I _know_ you know what I mean. This isn’t the easiest thing, being... I didn’t want you to think it was a one-time deal. I was serious about what I said, last night. I don’t really know what it all means, but I don’t regret it even for a second. I just need you to know that.”

Adora’s heart is beating faster now, but it’s not out of desperate hope, it’s out of excitement.

“Catra, I… I was so worried that you thought it was a mistake, or that you didn’t really want me. I haven’t… I haven’t exactly had the best luck with that, in the past. I was so scared it was another one of those times, that it was _me...”_

Catra’s quick to say her next words, looking apologetic.

“And I’m sorry about that, Adora. I should have left a note, or something but I just… Look, the point is I’m here. And I don’t think you understand how good of a time I had last night. Jesus Adora, it was fucking amazing… I’m not about to just walk away from that. Or from you.”

Adora’s eyes go wide, and a wave of relief crashes over her.

_It wasn’t a mistake, this is all real…_

“I feel the same way.”

Catra gives a weak smile at Adora’s words, and just offers her hand. Adora grabs it immediately and pulls Catra in for another kiss.

They break apart, smiling, and Adora can feel a question tugging at her.

“So… does this mean…”

Catra just chuckles softly.

“Adora, I still don’t know. What the fuck do you call this? I don’t want to try to define it or whatever, I just… I know I wanna keep going. We’ll figure it out as we go, okay?”

Catra’s words wash over Adora; they’re all she’s ever needed to hear.

“That sounds good. Like, really good.”

Catra puts her hand to her forehead, wiping away imaginary sweat, a grin on her face.

“Whew, okay good. I was worried there for a second Gray. I mean, it’s not every girl who can handle getting walked out on like that… Seriously, I’m sorry. I won’t do that again, I promise.”

Adora feels elated, hearing Catra so casually refer to the idea of there being more opportunities for that, more of this, more of _them…_

“Ha okay! Well I’m holding you to that.”

Adora realizes she’s been standing in her doorway talking with Catra for… far too long.

“Catra, what time is it?”

The other woman looks down at her watch, and raises an eyebrow when she says, “Uh, it’s 8:37. And you always leave--”

“Way earlier, fuck! I gotta go or I’ll be late!”

Adora runs back into her house, not even bothering to shut the door. Her makeup is minimal but it should be fine. She grabs the messenger bag that she always takes to work, double checks that her service weapon is in order, and then snatches her keys from a small table in the foyer. She’s back to the door in forty-five seconds, and then she’s outside.

“Okay Catra, I have to get out of here. But seriously, thanks for coming back and talking and… and for everything. I’ll see you later tonight?”

Catra gives a tired smile, and nods in confirmation. “Sure thing Adora. I’ll be around.”

Adora beams, and rushes forward to peck Catra on the cheek.

She jumps in her car, turns the keys in the ignition, and she’s gone.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra watches Adora’s car pull out of the driveway, experiencing a confusing mix of emotions.

She feels her now-familiar twinge of guilt. She has her orders, but she finds that’s not why she came back to Adora. She came back because she wanted to.

Catra thinks about Adora, how she represents something special. Through Adora, she might be able to reclaim some of her agency. Indulge in this part of herself that she’d locked away, maybe even experience something healthy and normal in her fucked-up life, just for once.

_Maybe I can even be happy._

Catra’s not entirely sure what ‘happy’ means in this context. She can’t just drop everything and be with Adora. That’s not how it works. She has a job to do, important work to be done, a mission…

She just doesn’t want that mission to be Adora.

Her mind wanders back to their conversation, just moments ago.

_“We’ll figure it out as we go, okay?”_

She chuckles at just how true that is. She thinks about how when she’s with Adora, she isn’t Catra the liar or the spy. She’s just herself. Catra makes a silent vow to keep it that way.

There’s a rumble from her stomach, and Catra realizes her appetite has finally returned to her.

_Shit, I haven’t eaten in…_

Her eyes go a little wider when she realizes how long it’s really been.

She rushes across the street for a late breakfast.

* * *

It’s five weeks later, mid-March, and Catra and Adora are out for drinks. They sit at the bar in their usual spots, and what strikes Catra in that moment is just how little has changed between them.

Catra’s missions lately have been fewer and farther between, and she thinks The Center might be trying to hold back on assigning her anything of real value until they know where they stand in relation to Party leadership. Catra doesn’t mind, and she’s just happy it gives her more time to spend with Adora.

They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine, mostly an extension of their lives pre-kiss, except with a bit more sneaking, and passion-filled, sleepless nights every time they have a chance. Their weekly dates at the bar continue just like they always have, and Catra realizes that maybe they’ve never really been all that platonic, even from the beginning.

Adora’s laughing at one of Catra’s offhand comments, weakly holding her drink in front of her and trying not to snort too loudly.

“Jesus Adora, you are such a fucking dork!”

“I am not! Don’t make fun of me just cause I have a silly laugh! Not everyone can cackle like you!”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t cackle! C’mon, is that really what you think of my laugh?”

Adora just stifles another giggle and says, “I mean, a little bit! Have you heard yourself? You get all like, high-pitched up there, you know?” Catra pulls a face and Adora quickly clarifies, “I like it! It’s just different is all. It sounds awesome though!”

Catra just shakes her head and smiles.

 _Fucking idiot,_ she thinks affectionately.

Just as she opens her mouth to let Adora know exactly how much of a dummy she is, they’re interrupted by… a man.

“Excuse me,” he says, addressing Catra directly. “My friend and I were wondering if you’d like to join us at our table over there?”

He turns and points to another man sitting about twenty feet away, who gives a small wave.

Catra gives the intruder a bored once-over. He’s attractive enough, for a guy. He’s tall and clearly goes to the gym, and has a swoop of black hair on top of his head. His face is smug, and annoying to look at. Catra gives an internal sigh.

She raises an eyebrow and just says, “And who’s asking?”

He quickly holds out his hand and says brightly, “John White, at your service.”

Catra lowers her critical gaze to his outstretched hand, but doesn’t take it.

“Why the fuck would I want to sit with you? I’m here with her.” She gestures to Adora, who John seems to have completely ignored.

Undeterred, he keeps going, though turns slightly to face the both of them instead of just Catra.

“Well, we just figured a couple of girls like you, out at a bar, might want to meet a couple of guys, you know?”

Catra lowers her voice a little, a dangerous edge to her words as she says, “Do you have any idea why two women might be out at a bar, together, with no men?”

John looks taken aback, and says stupidly, “Uh… I was thinking, maybe to find a couple of guys and get laid?”

Adora speaks up, a strained look on her face that tells Catra she’s trying not to laugh.

“You should probably leave. We’re fine”

“Are you sure? I mean hell, a couple of good-looking ladies like yo--”

“Let’s make a deal,” Adora says, cutting him off. “You arm wrestle me. If I lose, we’ll come over and sit with you and your buddy. If I win, you leave the bar and find somewhere else to pick up girls. How about it?”

John’s face lights up; he’s clearly a fan of his chances.

“Alright! You’re on, little lady.”

Catra thinks that comment might be slightly off base, because when Adora stands to grab a seat at the table next to them, she’s only a few inches shorter than he is, and just as broad.

Adora settles confidently into her chair, her legs spread apart and elbow resting easily on the table. She has a gleam in her eyes that Catra knows all too well.

 _This should be fun,_ she thinks as she takes a pull of her drink and swivels around to watch.

John White sits in the seat opposite Adora, rolling up his sleeve. They’ve attracted the attention of a few other patrons, who watch, interested, from their own seats.

Adora’s wearing a cocky grin, while John doesn’t look all that concerned.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Adora says in a determined voice. They lock hands, and then begin their struggle.

At first, they keep pace with each other, straining a bit, neither one giving any ground. The look in John’s eyes says that he’s confident in his abilities, but Catra knows better. Adora’s face is unreadable and calm as she holds his stare, their arms at a standstill. But as the seconds tick by, John’s arm begins to tremble slightly. Adora just presses her advantage, and their arms move an inch in her favor.

One or two regulars cheer in support of Adora, while John’s friend gives a yell from his spot a few feet away. Catra doesn’t bother with the cheering, and instead catches the eye of Henry, the bartender, who gives her a sly grin and just nods at the show Adora’s putting on.

John’s faring a little better than Catra thought he would, but it’s still not enough. Their arms are about two inches off center, and his is only dipping lower. Adora breaks her staredown with John and instead turns to look at Catra. She smirks, and with a loud _thunk,_ she slams her hand down to the table in victory, her gaze never leaving Catra’s.

_Jesus Christ, that’s hot._

Catra shifts slightly in her seat, uncrossing and then re-crossing her legs the opposite way. She can feel a simmering heat, low in her core.

_She actually turned me on by arm wrestling some douche? Now that’s impressive._

As the spectators cheer for Adora, she gets up and crosses her arms. The smirk is still on her face when she looks down at John White.

“Well? Gonna get out of here and leave us alone, or am I gonna have to make you?”

John stands up and grumbles, “Okay, okay, I get it. No need to be such a bitch about it…”

_Uh oh._

Adora’s eyes flash dangerously, and she says in a low voice, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The cheering has stopped, and so has the general chatter of the rest of the patrons. It’s uncomfortably silent for a moment before Catra decides to step in.

“He’s not worth it, Adora.” Catra calls lazily from her seat at the bar. “I’d rather not clean any blood off of you tonight, if it’s all the same.”

John turns to Catra now, and she looks right through him as she says, “Get the hell out of here. Before she kicks your ass.”

He looks back to Adora, and she’s clenching a fist at her side.

He sighs, and gestures to his friend.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fucking leaving. Fuck…” He brushes past Adora, and Catra can tell it’s taking an incredible amount of willpower for Adora not to punch this man’s face off.

A few seconds later, he and his friend are gone. There’s a few more cheers from the regulars when the door swings shut, and Adora walks back over to her seat at the bar. She settles into place and drains the rest of her beer.

Catra gives her a small smile, and reaches across the space between them and grabs Adora’s hand. Adora tries to jerk away, but stills when she sees Catra’s expression.

“Catra,” she hisses, “Someone’s gonna see!”

“Adora, it’s fine.” Catra murmurs softly. “Do you really think people here don’t know? We’ve been coming in every single weekend for the past three and a half months. They’re fine with that here.”

Catra can feel the tension leave Adora’s hand, and she slowly laces their fingers together.

Adora nods slowly, and says, “If you’re sure… I trust you.”

Catra smiles again and then grabs Henry’s attention.

“Let’s get a couple of fucking whiskeys, yeah?”

She turns back to Adora and says, “You were totally gonna hit him, weren’t you?”

Adora’s voice is almost up an octave when she replies, “Yes! What a fucking jerk! I honestly think I should have, just to teach him a lesson. Sheesh.”

Catra gives a laugh, and reaches for their freshly poured liquor.

“Here, for your little show. Good job, princess.”

They each take a glass and then drink. Catra relishes the burn that trickles down her throat, and then sets it back down, smiling at Adora.

“Can’t take you anywhere, Gray. You’re ridiculous.”

* * *

**_Adora_ **

It’s a lazy Sunday in early April, and sunlight spills through the blinds, bathing Adora’s room in a pleasant afternoon glow.

They’re lying in bed, enjoying the tired haze that’s settled over them after a particularly long morning of intimacy. Catra is sprawled out across Adora, using her as a pillow, and she’s settled in quite comfortably.

Adora watches Catra’s head rise and fall in time with her own breathing, fascinated by the occasional twitch of Catra’s eyelids, or the way the sunlight plays off of her freckles. She runs her hand tenderly through Catra’s mane of hair, enjoying the smooth feeling of it under her fingers.

Adora’s never been happier.

Catra stirs from her dozing state, and lifts her head slightly without opening her eyes. She lets out a huge, silent yawn, and a few seconds later, Adora finds herself doing the same. Catra sits up, hair pulling through Adora’s fingers and coming to rest playfully on Catra’s shoulder and down her arm.

Catra looks at Adora gently, and leans down to place a slow kiss to her lips. When they eventually pull apart, Adora chuckles slightly and says, “Well, hey there. What was that for?”

Catra settles back into Adora’s arms, this time just next to Adora instead of on top of her.

“I don’t know. Just cause I wanted to?”

Adora smiles, and replies, “That’s good enough for me.”

They stay like that for a while, soaking up the comfortable silence that rests easily between them. It’s peaceful, and feels lived in. Adora loves that their time together doesn’t always have to be punctuated with talking; they’re more than happy to simply be nearby, absorbing each other’s calming presence. She appreciates just how well they’ve come to understand one another, and how easily things have developed into an enjoyable routine.

Catra opens her mouth, as if to ask a question, and a split second before Adora hears the words, she can feel them vibrating from Catra’s chest.

“Adora, what do you… what do you think about the Russians?”

The question takes Adora by surprise.

“I mean… that depends. In what way are you asking?"

Catra takes a moment to formulate a response.

“Well, with your job. I mean, you fight them, or hunt them or whatever it is you do, and that’s kind of intense. You must have some thoughts about them, like do you hate them?”

They’ve never really discussed Adora’s work before, at least not in any substantial capacity. Catra seems to sense Adora’s hesitation about her job, and has generally (and mercifully) avoided the subject. Adora’s very grateful for that.

But she considers Catra’s question, wonders about the answer herself.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think I hate them. I don't look at it that way. I… definitely don’t like everything they do, but they’re not, like, evil or something. So many people think they’re evil, and that makes me sad.”

Catra’s voice is small. “If you don’t think they’re evil, then why do you fight against them?”

_I don’t even know._

That’s what she wants to say. Wants to confess that she’s almost completely adrift in a sea of patriotism, buffeted by the expectations of her country and battered by the storm of American propaganda. Instead, she opts for something different.

“I don’t really think of it as fighting them. What I do is more like… trying to understand them, I guess. Glimmer and Bow feel the same way. None of us are looking for a fight. We’re mainly just… searching for answers.”

There’s a beat of silence as Catra listens patiently, sensing that Adora’s not finished with her thought.

“All three of us got recruited right out of school. Honestly, being in this job is all we’ve ever known. We started off the way you’d expect, and serving our country was pretty much the biggest thing in our lives. I don’t know when that shifted… maybe when we grew up? I don’t really think it was until our mid-twenties, to be honest. Maybe even a little later for Glimmer.” She laughs a little, remembering some of Glimmer’s more frustrating moments from their younger days.

“I remember the first time I ever doubted… all of this. I was 22. The Vietnam War had just ended, and those last few years of it were the only ones I was really conscious of, you know? In ‘75 when it finally stopped, I just remember thinking, what was the point of all that? Nothing really… happened, over there. So many people died, and it was all for nothing. Since then, things haven’t really been the same. And especially now, with Reagan... Catra, I’m not sure what I’m doing, half the time. I hate that man.”

Catra just gives a small grunt and says, “Ha, me too. Guy’s a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, he is,” Adora confirms. She steels herself, and presses on.

“I have fri-- well, sorry. I _had_ friends. Friends who were gay. And they died, because of him. And I’ll never forgive him for that.”

Adora feels a tear roll down her cheek, memories beginning to surface.

“So it’s really hard, with my job. I know that the Bureau isn’t always the best. I try my hardest to do something useful with my position there, and I know Bow and Glimmer do too... So to answer your question about the Russians… I really don’t know. I think hating them is the wrong way to go about things. I’m not sure what that accomplishes, really. When I do my job, I’m trying to learn what I can, and maybe make a little bit of a difference.”

She lets the answer settle over them for a moment, before tacking on, “I’m sorry, that was kind of rambling and sad… And I don’t know if that really answered your question, it was kind of roundabout…”

Catra's quick to reassure her companion. “No, Adora, it was good! I like hearing your thoughts about it. Even if we can’t sit here and really talk about your job, it’s still nice to know what’s in that head of yours, you know?”

She punctuates her words with a gentle rap of her knuckles to Adora’s forehead, which prompts some giggling. Once they’ve recovered, Adora feels her own question forming on her lips.

“What about you? How do you feel about the Russians?”

Catra looks thoughtful for a moment. She takes a deep breath, and says, “What’s there to feel? I’ve never met one.”

* * *

**_Catra_ **

It’s been a while since she’s had to see Weaver. They’ve dropped their weekly check-ins in favor of a more conservative timeline of every three weeks, give or take.

Catra is elated, reveling in her handler’s relative absence from her life. She’s assigned fewer and fewer missions, and she gets the feeling that The Center is holding back for something big. Like holding your breath before the big drop on a roller coaster. Or at least, she assumes. Catra’s never ridden a roller coaster.

It’s given her more time for her cover job, and she finds that she actually enjoys writing up research and submitting it for approval. She even has time to work on a paper she’s hoping to get published, about the recent upswing in political tourism around D.C. Between her cover job, her real job, and Adora, her days are never dull and always busy.

It isn’t long before the end of April arrives, and with it comes another meeting with Weaver. Catra rolls her eyes when a runner approaches her in a park with a simple note in a manila envelope.

_“Meeting 28th. 7.”_

_God, I wonder what she’s gonna yell at me about this time._

On the morning of the 28th of April, she prepares herself to meet with her handler. She pulls up to the street outside the townhouse, and she can feel a nervous energy in her stomach. Can hear a whispering voice telling her to _run._ Some deep part of her instincts tingle with dread, a dread she hasn’t truly felt since that first night when Adora casually dropped the bomb about her profession.

Catra doesn’t know why she feels this way, but as she climbs the steps, she puts herself on guard. Her instincts are never wrong.

At Catra’s knock, Weaver opens the door like usual. But she seems to be in a bit of a hurry. She ushers Catra inside, and the voice in Catra’s mind grows louder.

_Run, before it’s too late._

She shoves the thought down, and quickly steps inside.

Weaver’s face is solemn, and tired.

“Ah, Catra. We have no time to waste. There’s been… an accident, back home.”

Catra’s instincts leave her, momentarily replaced by a morbid curiosity.

“Accident? Like… like what?”

“Explosions, at a nuclear power plant in Pripyat. It went into meltdown, and two plant workers have been killed already. The fire is burning as we speak.”

Catra is stunned into silence.

Her mind flies in a million different directions at once.

“What… how does…”

“We don’t know,” Weaver says, filling in Catra’s questions. “Nobody is sure the extent of the damage, but it’s clear that this disaster may be the most catastrophic blow to the Soviet Union yet.”

Catra’s still trying to catch up, her mind going down several paths and all coming to their logical conclusions.

“If there’s a fire burning, it’s spreading radioactive material everywhere that smoke goes. People live in that fucking town… Holy shit...”

“No doubt the Americans know by now. They will sensationalize it as usual, and we will be vilified once again. How very typical of them…”

Catra’s voice cracks. “That’s what you’re worried about? How the Americans are gonna spin this? Fuck, those people are gonna die! Have we evacuated them? Or, or contained the fire?”

Catra can feel a panic beginning to grip her, the horrible realization of her position. She can do nothing to help her people, and Weaver isn’t interested in the human impact.

“Calm yourself, Catra. We have a job to do.”

Catra slows her breathing, barely regaining control of herself. She glares at Weaver.

“And what do I have to do with this? What could The Center possibly want from me that’ll help any of this?”

“We cannot impact the disaster directly. Instead, we will be keeping a close eye on Gorbachev’s response to the Western nations. Not everyone in The Center agrees with this approach, but we are in a unique position to experience the effects of this disaster on the American people firsthand. It is no secret that his leadership has been… lacking. We are needed to be the eyes and the ears of our people, Catra. To do what they cannot.”

“You’re fucking obsessed with this, you know that? He’s not that bad, really. If not everyone in The Center agrees with this, then what are we doing? Is this you? Are you pulling strings back home?”

Weaver adopts her smug drawl as she says smoothly, “There are others like me, who feel Gorbachev is… going soft. The Center has determined that we need to keep a close watch on how he acts from here on out. If he fails to act in the interest of the Party, we may need to take action.”

“Take action. You’re a fucking lunatic, you know that? You can assign me literally anything else, just keep me out of your politics bullshit. I’m not gonna be a part of your power play.”

Weaver falls silent, and regards Catra with a stare colder than usual.

“And how are things coming with Adora?”

A shiver goes down Catra’s spine.

“They’re… fine. It’s going smoothly. She trusts me.”

She can feel a crack in the wall, the wall she's built up between Adora and her work.

_Weaver can’t ruin this, she can’t..._

“Good. See to it that you keep it that way. And be sure to stay focused. I’ll have something for you soon, if you’re so unwilling to help The Center along with its goal… Tread carefully, Catra.”

“Yeah, sure. Is that it then? You bring me here to tell me our people are dying back home and that you hate the Party leader? Cause I have better things to do with my time.”

Weaver sighs, a grating sound that warns Catra to shut her mouth.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re staying busy. Adora requires a lot of work, after all…”

She trails off, her implication hanging in the air dangerously. When she speaks again, her voice is the cruelest Catra’s ever heard.

“Leave. Get out of my sight. You’ll be assigned a mission soon, if that’s what you want.”

Catra walks swiftly to the door, wasting no time in heeding Weaver’s instructions.

* * *

As Catra makes the short drive back to her neighborhood, her mind wanders to thoughts of her home. She thinks of how disconnected she feels from her country, how it’s like another world. Her people suffer, but her job is only to manipulate and destroy. She hasn’t helped anyone. Not in a long time.

She looks down at her hands, gripping the steering wheel. She sees the smooth, light brown skin, and wonders, not for the first time, how that came to be. She has no memory of her parents, though she thinks they must have had skin like hers.

_Where did they come from?_

The theory she’s crafted over the years is that her parents immigrated to the Soviet Union after the war, or maybe they were displaced because of it.

She supposes her non-white skin is an asset to The Center, a Russian agent who looks nothing like a Russian agent would. Her skin is just another tool, to mold her into a better weapon.

The thought makes her feel sick.

Her mind snaps back into focus, and she realizes she’s not on her way home. She finds herself in town, pulling into the parking lot of a corner store.

_Why am I here?_

She parks the car and gets out, her feet carrying her forward. Her body clearly knows why she’s here, though her brain is taking a moment to catch up.

She shuffles inside, and then understands why she’s come. She grabs for a pack of cigarettes and reluctantly drops them on the counter. She reaches into her pocket, finds two crumpled dollar bills, and slaps them down. The bored-looking cashier just nods and Catra grabs the box and leaves before she can get her change.

She heads for her car, already hating herself a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is folks, the biggest twist in the entire story. The bar they've been going to this entire time... is not homophobic! Let's give it up for Henry, the sweet bartender who has secretly been supportive of them this whole time.
> 
> Also, ahh! I wrote this whole thing in like a day, after a particularly nasty bit of writer's block. Following up last chapter felt almost impossible, but it's here :)
> 
> As always please comment with your thoughts and feedback!


	10. Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Squad watches some TV. Catra plays hide-and-seek. Someone makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I won’t be posting a chapter this Saturday, due to the holidays (and my fingers needing a break!). I hope you all have a wonderful holiday yourself, and I’ll see you again next Wednesday.
> 
> Please enjoy chapter 10!

**_Adora_ **

It’s a bright and sunny morning in late May, and Adora wakes up in a great mood.

The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is Catra, freckles splashed across her cheeks.

Adora gazes at Catra fondly, drinking in the way her face relaxes in sleep, the tension disappearing and easing the faint lines that normally stretch across her skin. Idly, Adora runs a hand through Catra’s hair, just behind her ear where she knows there’s a little streak of gray beginning to form.

Catra won’t be up for another 45 minutes at least, so Adora slips quietly out of bed and prepares herself for a run.

The shifting weather has been a blessing, and Adora finds she has ample opportunities to get outside and enjoy herself, now that summer is almost here.

She tugs on some clothes, finds her relatively new running shoes, and heads for the door. In the foyer, she passes by a small table with a mirror hung over it.

She stops to gaze at her reflection, taking in the old t-shirt and the baggy shorts. The way the clothes hang off of her frame triggers something inside of her, and she instinctively glances at her hair. Usually when she runs, she puts it up in a ponytail and forgets about it, content to keep it out of her face; right now it’s loose and hangs down around her shoulders. For some reason Adora can’t define, looking at herself with long hair just feels… wrong.

_It’s only hair, don’t make a big deal out if it._

Adora frowns slightly, and reaches up to grab handfuls of it, hiding the length in her hands and arranging them to simulate a much shorter haircut. Adora looks at her reflection, and if she squints a little she can see the style she’s imagining. It’s much shorter, the shock of gold just a small accent to her features rather than the flowing distraction it sometimes is. Without her normal length, she notes that she comes across almost… masculine.

Adora finds she doesn’t mind all that much.

She files away that information, a new feeling beginning to bloom in her chest as she steps outside, and does up her usual ponytail.

A few stretches later, and she sets off on her run, intent on knocking out seven miles before Catra wakes up.

* * *

Adora lets out a huff of frustration.

“I just don’t see anything else we can do. We’re totally out of our depth here, resources or not. I mean, we _know_ that’s where the orders come through. It’s just that everyone in that building has diplomatic immunity, and we can’t get anywhere near them.”

She throws her pen down on the table and leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

Glimmer gives a sigh, reflecting Adora’s mood.

“Are you really giving up? This stuff takes time, Adora. We just need to be patient.”

Bow nods, and says, “Glimmer’s right. Why don’t we take a break?”

Adora just gives a weak thumbs up and grimaces.

They’re in the secure room, having just spent the last hour arguing over strategy and approach on their non-existent leads. It’s a common routine, and despite knowing with absolute certainty that a KGB operative is active in Washington D.C., they’ve gotten nowhere in months. Their last significant lead had been Glimmer and Bow’s strange encounter, which seemed to be a one-time oddity. Adora’s theory about communications from the Russian Embassy is still their priority, but a total lack of proof is leading to poor morale.

“Alright,” Adora says, attempting to break up the tension, “I don’t know about you two but I need something interesting to happen or I’m gonna die of boredom. Who knew catching spies was so goddamn tedious?”

Glimmer groans in acknowledgement. “Tell me about it! Couldn’t have mentioned that before posting us here, huh Bureau? I mean c’mon, I got held up at gunpoint by a Russian agent and it might have been less intense than the time in high school when my mom almost walked in on me and my gi--”

She cuts herself off with a blush. “You know, speaking of that, how’s things with you and Catra? Still breaking the bed every night?”

It’s Adora’s turn to blush as she just says in a small voice, “Uh I mean, well-- sometimes we... I mean things are good! I still can’t believe it, you know?”

Bow gives a smile and says, “Well, you’ve seemed a lot happier recently. It’s been great to see, Adora.”

“Thanks guys, seriously. And for the advice about being patient. Really paid off, huh?”

Glimmer wiggles her eyebrows and says suggestively, “Oh, it certainly seems like it…” She drops the playful tone and looks a little more serious. “But really Adora, I’m glad she wasn’t leading you on. You deserve this.”

Adora takes a moment to appreciate her friends. If it wasn’t for them, she would have gotten cold feet with Catra long before they had a chance to get together. Just another in a long list of things she owes her best friends.

 _I bet they’d love Catra,_ she thinks.

“Hey, would you guys… would you want to meet Catra?”

Bow speaks up, a smile already on his face. “Really? I mean, that sounds fun to me! What about you Glimmer?”

“Yeah, of course! She sounds neat, and I wanna see just how great she is firsthand,” Glimmer says with a wink in Adora’s direction.

Adora can feel her own smile coming on. “Awesome! I bet Catra would love to meet you guys, she hears plenty about you as is and thinks you sound cool. Maybe we could do a dinner party or something? With drinks and shit?”

“Oh, hell yeah. We could all use a little pick-me-up after this streak of terrible luck, honestly,” Glimmer says, grinning.

“Great!” Adora says. “I can ask Catra about it when I get home, I’ll let you guys know what she says, alright?”

Just as Glimmer and Bow begin to nod, there’s a loud knock on the door. They glance at each other, and Bow gets up to check on it. He opens the door and slips outside to talk with someone.

Glimmer and Adora are left alone, and Adora finds her mind wandering back to the mirror, earlier in the morning.

“Hey, Glimmer.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever… think about cutting your hair?”

Glimmer shoots a sideways look at her styled bob, and runs a hand through the strawberry-blonde hair.

“I mean, not particularly. I kind of have a style, you know? I think I rock it, so hey. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it?”

Adora has to admit Glimmer is right. She treats her hair with some sort of product that gives it an almost iridescent quality, making it seem to sparkle in the light. Glimmer has refused to tell Adora the name or brand of the product, for years. But whatever it is, it sure does make Glimmer’s hair almost glow. It’s a striking effect, made all the more impressive by the fact that the color is natural.

_Not like the Bureau would even tolerate dyed hair anyway. They probably think it’s breaking the law, or something._

“Yeah, you’re right. You know I love your style. I was thinking… well, I guess _I_ was thinking of cutting my hair. I don’t really know why.”

“What style are you thinking of?”

“I kind of wanted it short. Like, _really_ short. I don’t know, something that feels more… masculine, maybe? I don’t know if that makes sense or not.”

“Do you _want_ it to be more masculine? It might match your suits.” Glimmer raises an eyebrow, not critical, just genuinely curious. Adora appreciates that.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, then just keep me posted. You know I have that salon I keep trying to drag you to. If you come up with something, we could have a girl’s day out!” Glimmer’s voice pitches up at the end, and she doesn’t even pretend to hide her excitement at the prospect of a makeover.

Adora rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and says, “You got it.”

Just then, there’s another knock on the door, before it swings open and Bow walks back inside. He has an odd look on his face, and sits back down in his seat before talking.

“Hey guys? I think we have a lead.”

* * *

After a few phone calls and an hour of rounding up personnel from other departments, all three of them are on the ground floor, where the holding cells and interrogation rooms are located.

Room C-7 is what they’ve been assigned, though there won’t be any interrogation. They’ve brought in extra chairs and some coffee to make it seem a little less hostile.

“I really hope this is worth it…” Glimmer mutters.

“What did he actually see, Bow? You didn’t mention.” Adora asks.

Bow checks his watch, and replies, “They didn’t say. I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

A buzzer sounds from outside their room, and a few moments later a man appears in the doorway, flanked by a couple of agents.

Bow gets up to meet him, and shakes his hand as they say a few words of greeting.

The man settles into a seat opposite the three friends, and Bow launches into introductions.

“Alright, first of all, thank you so much for meeting with us. We really appreciate it. I’m Special Agent Williams, and these are Special Agents Moon and Gray. We’re working on a case that could really use some help. We understand you saw something suspicious the other night. What was it, Mr. Davis?”

Mr. Davis rests his elbows on the table in front of him. Adora guesses he’s around 60; he looks kind, and has wrinkles in the skin around his eyes. There’s streaks of gray in his hair and his beard.

“Well, I’ll tell you folks right now I didn’t see much,” Mr. Davis begins. “But I know what I did see wasn’t quite right. I’m an attendant at a parking garage, and part of my job is to do sweeps when things get slow. A few nights ago, I was walking through, checking it out, and I saw someone swapping out their licence plates. They had a whole other set of ‘em, and some tools.”

Glimmer leans forward and asks, “Did you get a good look at the plates?”

Mr. Davis just shakes his head, and says, “No, and I’m mighty sorry I didn’t. The angle I was at, she was between me and the car. Couldn’t make out any numbers, just knew what was going on.”

Adora latches onto his words, focusing in on one detail. “She?”

“Mhmm,” Mr. Davis confirms. “I tried to make sure I didn’t make any noise, didn’t want to scare her off right away cause I wanted to see what was going on. She must have heard me or something, cause she turned around, looked right at me, and then jumped in the car and took off. I only got a quick look at her, and mind you there ain’t that great of lighting in a garage like that. Makes everything orange, y’know?”

Bow gestures to someone outside the room, while Glimmer narrows her eyes and says, “Describe her.”

“I know she had long blonde hair, that much was clear. Baseball cap on her head, sort of a dark jacket. Mostly black clothes, and some gloves. I wasn’t close enough to tell you many more details than that, I gotta be honest.”

Adora’s mind flashes to the almost non-existent description Bow and Glimmer had come up with for their Russian agent. This isn’t much better, but there’s at least something to go on.

A sketch artist has come into the room now, and begins taking out their tools from a small bag.

Adora thinks for a moment, then asks a few clarifying questions. “So, you got to see her face. Can you tell us skin color, eye color, age, anything? I mean, was she thin, ugly, did she have marks on her face, anything at all?”

Mr. Davis tilts his head a little, clearly recalling that night. “Well like I said, the lighting really messes with your eyes, you know? Washes everything out, so I couldn’t tell you her skin color if you put a gun to my head. Which uh, you folks aren’t gonna do, right?” He glances nervously at Glimmer, who’s narrowed eyes and general stance give off a much more intense vibe than she likely means.

Bow is quick to flash a gentle smile and say reassuringly, “Of course not, sir. We’re just doing what we can to understand what went on. What about any identifying features on her face?”

Mr. Davis looks thoughtful another moment, and says, “If I had to say, I think she was pretty. Thin face, but no markings at all. No zits or freckles or anything. I remember cause her skin looked so weirdly smooth in that light, like a doll. So yeah… probably attractive, smooth skin. That blonde hair, I’d say probably dyed? Even in that infernal lighting it was obviously platinum something or other. She might have been anywhere from 20 to 50 though, no idea on that. Sorry folks.”

Glimmer falls back into her seat with a small huff, while Bow steals a glance at the rough outline the sketch artist is already making. Adora leans forward with one more question on her lips.

“What make of car was it?”

“Hmm, Buick. LeSabre, maybe 84? See ‘em all the time in the garage. Blend right in if it wasn’t for her switchin’ out the plates and all.”

Adora jots that down in her notes, and they sit in relative silence for a moment, listening to the strokes of a pencil on paper from the sketch artist.

Eventually, Bow gets up and says kindly, “Alright Mr. Davis, I think that’s about all we need. Agent Brooks here will finish up with any specific questions and get as good a sketch as she can manage. Again, thank you so much for this info. It might not seem like much, but we think it’ll really help us out with our case. We might be in touch if we need anything else, but this should be all. We appreciate your help.”

Bow moves forward to shake his hand, followed quickly by Glimmer and Adora. They move toward the door.

Agent Brooks looks up to Adora as they’re leaving, and says, “I’ll have this to you in a few hours, ma’am.”

Adora just nods in confirmation, and then they’re making their way through the halls, to the elevator.

_Wow. Big day._

* * *

**_Catra_ **

The second Catra is inside Adora’s house, she reaches for the blonde and flips them around, pinning Adora up against the door.

“Whoa, okay… Someone’s a little worked up, huh?” Adora says playfully.

“Shut up Adora,” she growls.

Adora doesn’t have anything else to say, and just smirks down at Catra.

Catra stands between Adora’s legs, and lets her hands go where they want. When their mouths meet in a hungry kiss, she instantly moans into it, her pent up frustrations melting away as she tastes Adora’s tongue against hers.

It’s been a rough week for Catra.

Between her renewed habit making her feel like shit, and the extremely close call from her mission a few days ago, Catra is a ball of anxiety.

_Fucking car. Fucking parking garage. Fucking cigarettes…_

The thoughts fall away one by one as her hands find Adora’s belt, and begin to unbuckle it.

“Right here, Catra? Not even patient enough to go to the be--”

_Knock knock knock._

Catra and Adora instantly lock eyes and freeze, pupils wide and hearts racing. Neither one makes a sound.

_Knock knock knock._

Adora frantically and silently mimes for Catra to go, somewhere, anywhere else.

Catra disentangles herself from Adora and, as quietly as she can, slips down the hallway and around the corner.

As she stands in the hallway, back against the wall, she hears Adora slowly open the door.

“Oh, hey there Sandra!” comes Adora’s voice. “What’s going on?”

Catra internally cringes at Adora’s already strained tone.

_Way to play it cool, dumbass._

Sandra’s voice drifts over now. “I just thought I’d come over here and… check up on you. Me and Bill have been a little worried, just hoping you’re doing okay!”

Sandra is Catra’s next door neighbor, a sweet enough lady who usually minds her own business. She’s taken a small interest in Adora ever since she moved to the neighborhood, though lately her attempts to make Adora feel welcome are starting to seem like attempts to suss out what exactly it is Adora does all day.

 _Me,_ Catra thinks with a grin.

“Wha-- oh yeah! I’m fine! Doing totally fine over here, right now, uh-huh! What uh, what makes you worried?”

_You can’t act to save your fucking life, Gray._

Sandra’s tone is hesitant, probing. “Just wondering if you’ve been, getting out enough. Or socializing at all? Seems like you spend an awful lot of time with just… one friend in particular. We’re just wondering about you, dear, that’s all.”

Adora clears her throat in a poor attempt to hide her surprise, and Catra can vividly imagine the flustered look that must be on her face. “Oh? Uh, what friend, I don’t know--”

“Well isn’t Catra over here? She’s a doll of course, but we haven’t seen much of her lately either. We’re worried about her, too.”

Catra feels a wave of fondness for Sandra; she’s been a nice neighbor for years, and despite the awkward situation unfolding around the corner, she can recognize genuine concern when she hears it.

Meanwhile, Adora simply loses what little cool she had left.

“Ca-- Catra? Why would, I mean she’s not, I think she’s doing work or--”

“I don’t mean to pry dear! I’m sure you’re alright, I just wanted to check up, if you needed anything or wanted to… talk about something. I’ll uh, I’ll leave you two to, I mean I’ll leave you to it!”

“Okay, bye Sandra! Thanks for, uh, dropping in. See ya around!”

Sandra’s footsteps fade and Catra can hear the door swing shut, and Adora lets out a long breath. Catra waits a beat, and then peeks her head around the corner.

“Is she gone?” she half-whispers.

Adora’s voice cracks a little when she half-whispers back, “Yes…”

Catra emerges from her hiding spot, and Adora’s face is beet-red, completely flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh my god, Catra, that was-- I think she knows? It was so weird, oh god, oh fuck, what if she says something, what should I--”

“Hey, hey, babe it’s okay…” Catra’s hands find Adora’s, and she rubs small circles over Adora’s knuckles in a motion she hopes is soothing. She presses on, ignoring the pet name that inadvertently slipped out of her mouth.

“She’s a sweetheart, I think she really did just want to make sure you were doing fine. It’s gonna be alright, okay?”

Adora refuses to meet her gaze, instead staring intently at the floor, a blush still on her cheeks.

“Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be alright, got it?”

Adora looks up sheepishly, and then just nods and then wraps Catra in a hug, burying her face into Catra’s shoulder.

Catra is a little surprised by the tenderness of the embrace, but nuzzles herself into Adora’s neck and squeezes her arms tighter.

“I’ve got you…” she finds herself whispering into Adora’s ear. “We’re okay…”

She pulls back from Adora, and she can see there’s actually tears in Adora’s eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry for freaking out. Kind of pathetic, huh?” Adora asks as she gives a weak chuckle.

“No, Adora, it isn’t.” Catra says firmly. “Not at all. Wanting to be safe isn’t pathetic, not one bit. C’mere…”

Catra lets her hands trail from Adora’s shoulders down to her fingers. They hold hands as Catra leads Adora out of the foyer and into the living room, to the couch.

Her mind flashes back to three months ago, when Adora had done the same thing, leading her to the bedroom instead.

_A lot changes in three months, huh?_

They reach the couch, and Adora practically sinks into it, Catra right next to her.

“Thanks, Catra. Sometimes I need something to ground me, you know?”

Catra nods, and leans against Adora’s shoulder, feeling the vibration of Adora’s voice.

“Today’s just been… today has been a lot. I’m kind of a mess. Things have been, like, _really_ frustrating at work, but then today something big came through, and that’s great! But it was such whiplash, and it was kind of exhausting. Plus, ever since this morning I’ve been having this weird feeling… I don’t even know. Just… thanks for putting up with me, Catra.”

“Of course Adora. I mean, fuck, you put up with me, right? Only fair to repay that.”

They sit in silence for just a moment, decompressing from the sudden stress.

After a while, a small puff of air comes from Adora’s nose. Then again, until it grows into a genuine laugh. Catra sits up, and just looks at Adora.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You called me ‘babe’... don’t think I didn’t notice!”

“Wha-- okay, look, it just happened, in the moment, alright? Don’t read too much into that, or get a big head or whatever. It’s _not_ because I like you.”

Adora just smiles, and places a kiss on Catra’s cheek.

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it.”

Catra smiles too, and then cuddles close to Adora.

_This girl will be the death of me._

“Actually, speaking of my weird day,” Adora says, “I was talking with Glimmer and Bow, would you want to meet them sometime? I was thinking we could have a little dinner party, just the four of us.”

Catra internally freezes up. Her body stays relaxed, not giving anything away.

_I knew not speaking to them directly would pay off. I fucking knew it._

She thinks it over in a split second. On the one hand, Glimmer and Bow are FBI Agents.

 _But on the other hand, what’s two more?_ she thinks dryly.

The truth is, she actually wants to meet them quite badly. Ever since their extremely non-traditional first meeting, she’s wanted a chance to see them in person, a chance to be friendly with them. Every story Adora tells just makes Catra like them more, and this is the perfect chance to indulge in that.

_Plus, it would be pretty weird if I said no._

She finds the decision is an easy one, and the answer comes to her immediately.

“Hell yeah, sounds like fun. And you promise they’re not weird about us?”

Adora snorts, and says, “Oh, trust me. They’re the sweetest people you’ll ever meet, and they’ve known about us for uh. For a while. If anything, Glimmer might hit on you. I think you’re her type.”

Catra internally blushes at that thought, remembering how pretty Glimmer is in person.

“Uh, well alright then! Yeah, let’s fucking do it. I’ll help you cook?”

“Oh thank goodness, I was gonna ask. I can’t cook anything good enough for four people or a party.”

Catra pauses, thinking back months and months now.

“Wait, what about that steak when you invited me over? That was amazing.”

Adora’s voice is small. “That was, uh. That was Bow’s recipe. I wanted to impress you.”

“You fucking dork! Ha, well then I’ll definitely have to help you out. We got this.”

They both move in for a kiss, and Catra revels in the simple pleasure of doing this, of having Adora all to herself. After a few seconds, Catra remembers what they were doing before they were interrupted, and the heat that she’s felt all day returns to her.

She deepens the kiss, and Adora responds with a little moan. Together, they fall back onto the couch, and find themselves right back where they started.

  
  


* * *

**_Adora_ **

It’s a week later, and Adora and Catra are preparing for guests.

“Should I wear anything fancy?” Catra asks. “I could always go put on that suit again, from when we had dinner that second time…” she purrs.

Adora blushes, remembering how well Catra had worn it, how it had perfectly accented the sharp lines of her face, the slight curves of her body…

“Um. Yeah that was… that was a good suit. But no, nothing too fancy I think. Bow and Glimmer are probably just gonna wear jeans and jackets or something, I’m not totally sure. I don’t think they’ll care at all.”

“Okay, good. I wasn’t actually about to get all fancy for them. But… I’d dress up for you, if you asked nice.” She walks away with a wink, off to check on the kitchen.

Adora can feel a buzz of nervous energy settle over her. The thought of her best friends meeting her… what is Catra? Are they girlfriends? Partners? They haven’t actually discussed it much, though they seem to be acting a hell of a lot like they’re married, these days. Regardless, Adora is practically bursting with excitement for all of them to meet, and anxious for her friends’ approval.

Catra comes back out of the kitchen, and says, “Alright, everything should be good. I’m gonna pop over to my place to change, and then I’ll be right back.” Catra places a kiss to Adora’s cheek, and then saunters to the door, her hips swaying slightly. Adora watches, mesmerized, until the door swings shut behind Catra.

Adora just stands there, stunned at Catra’s casual display of affection. For all the physical intimacy they’ve engaged in, Catra hasn’t ever just kissed Adora’s cheek. Until that moment.

Adora can’t help but feel that’s significant.

* * *

Within the hour, Catra is back, wearing some tight jeans and one of her leather jackets.

_God, she looks so good…_

_And she knows it, too._

Adora’s opted for acid-wash jeans and a baggy tie-dye t-shirt. She likes the way it hangs off of her, and it feels relaxed and comfortable.

“Alright, food’s all ready, when did you tell them to drop by?” Catra asks.

Adora checks her watch. It’s 7:01. “Uh, right about now, actually.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. They glance at each other, and Adora asks, “Ready?”

Catra just nods, but Adora can faintly hear her mutter, “Goddamn FBI Agents, being all punctual…”

As Adora moves for the door, she just replies, “Hey, not all of us are late all the time like you. Deal with it, Álvarez.”

Catra sticks out her tongue and then grins, just as Adora pulls open the door. Bow and Glimmer stand on the step, smiling and holding up bottles of alcohol. Adora ushers them inside.

“We’re here!” Glimmer says in a sing-song voice.

“And we brought drinks!” Bow echoes in an equally playful tone.

Adora’s face lights up. “Hell yeah!”

They’re inside, and the door shuts behind them with a _click._

Adora reaches for the bottles in Bow’s hands, and then says enthusiastically, “So! Glimmer, Bow, this is Catra!”

Catra just gives a little wave from where she stands, a smirk on her face. “What’s up.”

Glimmer immediately rushes to Catra’s side, and gushes, “Holy shit, your jacket is amazing! You look _so_ cool.”

“Uh, thanks sparkles. You too, I guess?”

Bow moves forward with his hand out and says, “It’s great to meet you! Adora’s told us so much!”

“Ha! Same, she hardly ever shuts about you guys. Almost like you’re all best friends or something.”

Glimmer just raises her eyebrows, and says, “Yeah, and Adora never shuts up about _you._ Almost like she _likes_ you…”

“Glimmer! Behave yourself!” Adora shouts, walking to the kitchen. “And for the record, I do.”

Adora can hear Catra chuckle form the foyer, and begin to chat some more with Bow and Glimmer.

She places the bottles down on the counter, and takes a moment to collect herself.

_It seems good so far!_

She smiles to herself, enjoying the friendly chatter drifting through the house.

“Alright,” she calls, “Food’s ready whenever we wanna eat!”

In a few moments they’re gathered around the dinner table, and Adora begins serving them.

Just as Glimmer passes her plate over, Catra asks casually, “So, you two together?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Adora can see Bow stiffen in his seat, face almost frozen in fear. Glimmer stops with her plate halfway to Adora, and splutters a few weak denials.

“We’re, we’re not, um, I mean, Bow is a great friend! We don’t want to-- that is, I mean he’s--”

Adora takes mercy on them and interrupts, looking at Catra. “They’re not a couple, Catra.”

Catra just raises an eyebrow and smoothly grabs Glimmer’s plate from her frozen hand, passing it to Adora.

“Okay, hey, whatever you say. Just you two got here at the same time, I kind of figured…”

Bow jumps in, eager to explain. “Uh, we got ready together! We always do that when we go out! We have a whole routine, it’s kind of our thing.”

Catra just chuckles a little bit, and then says in her low, raspy voice, “Got it, okay. Not gonna push it.”

Just then, Glimmer shoots Catra… a look.

Adora knows that Glimmer and Bow are sensitive about their… whatever it is they are, and they have been for a few years now. There’s clearly some sort of tension between them, but Adora avoids bringing it up, figures that since neither one has confided in her about it, it’s none of her business. She supposes a bit of annoyance on Glimmer’s part isn’t unexpected, but the look she’s giving Catra is… different.

It’s not annoyed.

It’s suspicious.

It’s a subtle difference, and you’d hardly know it, looking at her. But years of studying her best friends has allowed Adora to recognize almost anything they’re thinking based on body language alone. And given the nature of their work, suspicion is something she sees a lot of.

_Calm down, Glimmer. She’s just curious!_

But the hidden intensity of Glimmer’s gaze doesn’t seem to waver.

Adora breaks up the tension by setting Glimmer’s filled plate down in front of her, and saying exaggeratedly, “Catra helped me make this! Doesn’t it look good?”

Glimmer breaks her stare and looks down at her plate, eyeing the chicken and the salad.

“Yeah, it does! Do you like to cook, Catra?”

The chatter resumes, and the moment of tension is over. Adora catches Glimmer shoot a sideways glance at Bow, just for a split-second; one of their silent conversations they’re always having.

 _Something is up,_ she thinks.

The rest of the meal passes without any more suspicious glares, but Adora can tell something has shifted. Glimmer is being friendly with Catra, just like before. There’s nothing different in her voice, in her words, and yet the tension is still there. As though once revealed, it remains, hanging over them for the entire evening like a shadow waiting to creep down from the ceiling when the lights finally go off.

_Some real good imagery there, Adora. Not creepy at all!_

After dinner, all four of them head to the living room, where they busy themselves with drinks.

Adora drops onto her favorite spot on the couch, a whiskey in hand, and Catra curls up next to her with a glass of wine.

Upon seeing Adora and Catra together, Bow blushes a little and his eyes go wide as he beams at them.

“Oh my gosh, you two are adorable!”

Catra just glares at him, and snaps, “No we are not!”

“Getting flustered over it just makes it cuter!”

Catra just narrows her eyes, and says shrewdly, “You know, for someone who’s cool with gay people, you can be pretty insufferable.”

“Oh, c’mon Catra!” Glimmer whines. “Lighten up! Adora, tell your girlfriend to chill.”

Adora immediately feels Catra tense up.

_Oh god, Glimmer, that was not the right thing to say._

_Are we not girlfriends? Does she hate that idea?_

Adora’s mind races to a million different conclusions, and she immediately is consumed by irrational worry.

_She’s cuddling with you right now, in front of other people. Calm down, girl._

Glimmer, thankfully, notices the tension that instantly manifests in the room.

“You know what, forget it. Catra, Adora, you guys are fucking adorable and there’s no getting out of that one. How about we watch some TV and find the worst program we possibly can?”

Catra recovers quickly, and relaxes again as she leans forward and smirks.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. What’s even on, on Saturdays?”

“ _The Love Boat_!” Bow cries cheerfully.

“ _The Love Boat_? Are you kidding me?” Adora snorts. “What, do you guys watch it?”

Glimmer nods enthusiastically, saying, “Oh yeah. Me and Bow watch it every Saturday, to make fun of it. It’s a tradition.”

“Every Saturday, huh?” Catra asks, eyebrow raised. Adora supposes Catra deserves some credit for holding back this long. Still, every Saturday? She shoots a look at her friends, unintentionally matching Catra’s quizzical gaze.

Glimmer notices, and just rolls her eyes. “Yes! It’s one of our things! Now will you two stop that?”

Catra just smirks, but drops the subject. She reaches for the remote, and turns on the television.

They flip through the few channels until they find _The Love Boat_ , and Glimmer immediately launches into some high-pitched chatter about the show (“Oh my god, Bow, it’s the last episode! What are we gonna watch now?!”).

Catra turns to Adora, and there’s a question in her eyes. _Are you okay?_

Adora just smiles and puts her arm around Catra.

“Yeah,” she murmurs quietly. “I’m okay.”

Catra doesn’t seem to find anything odd about Adora’s words despite her silent question, and just smiles and curls in closer to Adora, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra didn’t realize just how… _nice_ this would be. There’s something comforting about Bow and Glimmer’s presence, the knowledge that she and Adora can be themselves in front of other people, and not be hated or judged. She finds she’s more physically affectionate with them around, completely comfortable in her and Adora’s relationship.

_And what is that relationship, huh? Are you gonna freeze up every time someone says the word girlfriend?_

_Shut up, will you?_

She puts her familiar warring thoughts to rest, and reflects on the evening so far as she sips her wine.

It’s easy to get along with Bow and Glimmer. They really are sweet, and despite Catra’s outward protestations, she appreciates Bow's gentleness and Glimmer’s energy.

Then there was dinner. Hmm.

Catra had said something in her low voice, rasping it out without even thinking. She can’t be certain, but she thought she saw something there in Glimmer’s eyes. Recognition, maybe? She’s sure that her work from a few months ago was enough to cover up her identity. Still, there’s no accounting for instinct. She’d made sure to speak in a slightly higher pitch the rest of the night.

Besides that brief tension, Catra feels like this is almost a totally normal night. A glimpse of what could be, all the time, not just temporarily as a lie.

If things were different.

Catra might be able to sit here, without a single worry on her mind. Without chain-smoking the next day to relieve the stress. Without lying to the woman she…

That word. It keeps coming up, despite her best attempts to stop it.

_Love._

_Is that what this is?_

Catra can’t even remember the last time she felt such a thing, either for anyone or from them. She’s fond of Adora. She cares about her. The walls she’s built between Adora and her work are now so thick, so as to divorce this part of her life completely from her other self. Her worse self. Would she go through all of that effort if not for love? Does love mean kissing someone and liking it? Or maybe fucking them and liking it even more?

Catra hasn’t experienced much of either of one. But she knows that both of those are true with Adora, and maybe it even goes beyond that. She enjoys just being around her. It feels comfortable. Feels relaxed. She knows that when she’s with Adora, she’s… better. Is that love? She wonders what might happen, if she wasn’t able to see Adora anymore. If this whole charade just stopped, if they were never able to kiss again.

The thought almost makes her want to cry.

_God dammit. I’m attached._

She’s shaken out of her thoughts by a scream from the television. Quick flashes of a headstone, and then lightning, followed by a man yelling in fear.

“Jason lives,” comes the voice-over from the commercial.

Catra smirks at the campy movie trailer, taking in a few seconds of children running, a fire, and the titular character breaking down a door.

“Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives.”

There’s a cheesy sound effect followed by the title over a stylized hockey mask, and Catra bursts out laughing.

“You think that stuff is funny, Catra?” Glimmer asks, one arm hooked through Bow’s and an expression of worry on her face.

“What, you weren’t actually scared by that, were you sparkles?”

“It’s a horror movie!” Glimmer cries. “It’s meant to be scary!”

Catra just grins at Glimmer, and says, “Well, maybe it takes a little more than that to spook me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a special shout-out to reader Draconian_Katra, who helped me develop a specific aspect of this story that starts in this chapter. It’s something I’m really looking forward to! They gave me some advice and, importantly, the motivation I needed to incorporate this into the story. I’m being vague for spoiler reasons, but you’ll all see what I mean in good time and I’m so excited to write it. Thank you again for your help Draconian_Katra!
> 
> Chapter title is a reference to one of the best episodes of The Americans, “The Magic of David Copperfield V: The Statue of Liberty Disappears”. It’s extremely funny to me that the episode title is that long and I wanted to pay homage to that with a chapter title. Also, watch The Americans!
> 
> As always, please leave your thoughts and feedback, I continue to read and hopefully respond to every comment, I love hearing your reactions! Till next time :)


	11. put your head in my hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bow and Glimmer do some investigating, while Catra asks some hard questions. Weaver makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, happy Wednesday! Just wanted to clarify a change in the scheduling for this fic.  
> From here on out, I’ll continue to post once a week, on Wednesdays. I need the extra time as chapters become longer and more involved, like this one.  
> Hope that works out alright, and just know I’m more excited than ever to write the rest of this story. Please enjoy chapter 11!

**_Bow_ **

It’s the afternoon of June 17th, and Bow is just coming back from his lunch break. He steps into an elevator, punches the button for the fourth floor, and lets out a small sigh.

In just twenty short days, their promising new lead has slipped away, becoming nothing more than a useless piece of paper. The sketch is undeniably a step forward; they haven’t managed to obtain any hard proof that connects the incident in the parking garage with the known KGB operative active in the area, though the team is reasonably sure the two are related.

Despite this progress, every one of their ideas has fizzled out, and the sketch is too vague to provide any useful intelligence. They’ve gone through the standard procedures, and sent a copy of the possible suspect to every DMV on the East Coast, as well as every train station, airport, or bus station they have a record of. It’s early days, Bow knows, but the incomplete sketch of an everywoman isn’t likely to drum up any other leads.

Between the vexation of a breakthrough just out of reach and the ongoing political gridlock they’ve encountered in their suspicions of the Russian Embassy, the high of discovering new evidence has lasted… twenty short days.

He reaches the fourth floor and is greeted by the familiar beep of Swiftie, attempting to enter the elevator.

“Not now Swiftie,” Bow mutters, and he pats the mail robot affectionately as he glides past it and into the office.

He makes a beeline for the secure room, not bothering to knock as he moves inside, the red light flickering on behind him to indicate the room is now in official use.

Inside, Glimmer is slumped face down on the table. 

_Glimmer._

Bow stands near the door a moment, regarding his best friend.

 _More than best friends, now,_ he has to remind himself. A small blush rises to his cheeks as he remembers the kiss they shared, just hours before attending Adora’s dinner party.

Glimmer has been a constant presence in Bow’s life since childhood, and they’ve grown closer than he ever could have imagined. While he’s level-headed and calm, Glimmer doesn’t seem to even know those words exist. An exuberant ball of energy, she’s a wildfire that he tries desperately to contain; an impossible task, of course. He knows that they’ve grown closer only because Glimmer wants it as much as he does, and not through any design of his own. Their fragile new relationship is merely a natural extension of a lifetime’s worth of smiles, innocent touches, shared looks and perfect synchronicity. Bow thinks that maybe, on some level, he’s always loved Glimmer. The only difference now is that he’s able to fully articulate his affections.

As Glimmer naps in her spot at the conference table, Bow is acutely aware that she’s been here all lunch break; sleeping right through meals has become her new routine as the frustrations of their job begin to mount.

He walks past Glimmer and falls into the chair next to hers, gently rubbing his hand on her back until he can feel her begin to stir.

“Hey Glimmer. Have you eaten anything?”

Glimmer doesn’t bother to raise her head as she replies, “No. You know I haven’t, why are you asking?” Her voice is muffled against her arms and the table.

Bow doesn’t stop his hand, just gives a smile he knows Glimmer can’t see, and replies, “Because I care about you.”

A beat passes, and Glimmer raises her head from her protective cocoon. Stray hairs occupy the space around her, bent out of shape by her impromptu napping session. She looks at Bow, one eye half-shut and mouth slightly open.

She’s beautiful.

“Of course you care about me. You’re my boyfriend, silly.”

Bow’s smile stretches even wider, until he’s practically beaming.

“Isn’t that just the best? It still feels weird to say, you know?”

Glimmer grins back in agreement, and says, “Yeah, it does… but like, wow. We’re dating!”

She reaches for Bow, pulls him into a hug. Bow buries his face in Glimmer’s neck, breathing in her familiar scent and getting lost in her vividly pink hair.

They pull apart slowly, neither one wanting to break the connection.

“Hey, don’t try to distract me with hugs.” Bow keeps smiling, despite his words. “You should eat something, or maybe have some water.”

“Ugh, I’m fine. My stomach is all gross right now, I don’t think I could keep anything down, anyway. Adora’s gonna be back soon, right? Then we can get back to work.”

Bow hesitates, not quite as eager to dive into the mire of their job.

His mind wanders back to the night of the dinner party, after their kiss and after finally meeting the woman they’d heard so much about. Catra is interesting, he thinks, in part because of how effortlessly she seems to balance out Adora. Of course, she’s interesting for other reasons too. Reasons that Bow had noticed right alongside Glimmer.

“Glimmer, I’ve been thinking...”

The words hang heavy between them for a moment, and Bow makes sure to phrase his next thought carefully. There’s a practiced softness in his voice as he says, “I think we need to talk about it.”

A strained look passes over Glimmer’s face, and she’s quick to shake her head.

“We can’t. It would… look, it would just be too much. I’m worried about how Ad--”

There’s a too-loud knock on the door, and Adora walks in, looking almost as tired as Glimmer.

“Hey guys. Ready to get back to it?” the blonde asks.

Glimmer gives a sigh, but Adora doesn’t seem to notice, or care. There’s been a lot of sighing between the three of them lately.

“Yeah, we’re ready. What did you have in mind for this afternoon?” Bow asks, hoping to smooth over the abrupt end to his and Glimmer’s conversation.

Adora sits herself down in the free chair next to Glimmer, and flops down a thin folder that Bow hasn’t seen before.

“Nothing about our KGB officer, but I think I found something in the Embassy. Maybe.”

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. “Something we might have missed?”

Adora sets her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. Her ponytail hangs limply, and Bow notes the sloppiness of it; her ponytail is usually expertly applied, and never in any shape Adora doesn’t deem to be perfect.

_She must really be tired._

Adora answers Glimmer’s question with exasperated words. “I don’t know. It’s not much, but we don’t have a lot to work with here. I’m taking what I can get at this point. Take a look.”

She opens the folder and passes out copies to Bow and Glimmer, a single sheet of info each. Bow looks down at the paper in front of him, scans over the passport photo. It’s a middle-aged man, with dark hair and a severe face. His eyes are piercing and intelligent, and the lines on his face indicate experience. Bow glances at the man's info, and catches a familiar name.

“Konstantin Burov? I thought we checked this guy out months ago. He’s clean.”

Adora turns to look at Bow. “We did. He’s here on an extended visa and works with the Embassy as a ‘technology director’. But when you say we checked him out, we couldn’t really do much. We had him monitored for a week like all the other personnel, but he’s already restricted so much by his visa it didn’t really matter in the end. He didn’t do a damn thing out of place.”

Glimmer looks thoughtful for a moment. “He was one of the first guys we looked at, I remember him now. Why are you bringing him back up?”

Adora lowers her voice, despite being in the secure room; Bow has to lean forward to hear her words.

“I think this is our guy. He’s in charge of KGB operations here in the States.”

The accusation pulls Bow’s mind in several directions at once, but he makes sure his voice is calm and settles for asking, “Do you have any proof?”

Adora lets her gaze fall to the table, but she doesn’t answer one way or the other.

“I have a hunch,” she mutters. “I don’t think the position of ‘technology director’ exists. I did as much snooping as I could and came up with nothing for a posting like that at any other Embassy. I know the Russians are protective about… everything, but still. It’s weird. He’s been here for years, with only some small breaks back to the Soviet Union, and they only last a month or two. The guy practically lives here. Most other people we’ve looked into stay a year at most. Whatever this guy does, it has to be important enough to be posted at the Embassy consistently since 1982.”

She pauses for breath, and looks up at her friends with a pleading expression.

“Plus, wouldn’t a tech director be, I don’t know. Younger? I mean 46 isn’t that old I guess, I just would think they’d get someone more… familiar with that stuff. I don’t know. I just really, _really_ have a feeling. It’s got to be one of the people we’ve looked at, right? Why not him?”

She sounds unsure of herself, and her voice gets smaller at the end of her question. She’s clearly fishing for Bow and Glimmer’s approval, but...

Bow contemplates this for a moment. They’ve been running with Adora’s suspicion of the Embassy for months now, and everything else they have points to it being the correct assumption. The KGB operative (operatives? They still aren’t sure) must be getting orders from somewhere, and disguising it through official communication lines seems to make the most sense.

_Case in point, we’re investigating right now but the red tape is blocking us at every turn. It’s too smart not to be it._

Adora makes a compelling case. Or at least, relative to the last few months of frustrating dead-ends.

He decides to go for it.

“Okay, sure. It’s better than anything we’ve come up with in a while. We could arrange for more constant monitoring? Maybe a week just wasn’t enough time to catch him slipping up.”

Glimmer nods enthusiastically in agreement, her face lighting up at the thought of a new potential lead. “Sounds good to me! This guy’s as good a guess as any. If you think this feels right, then we’ve got your back.”

Adora gives a weak smile, a look of gratitude in her tired eyes.

“Great, thanks guys. Then… if this is what we’re going for, I’m gonna go run it by Ward. He should give us clearance for a surveillance team by the end of the day.”

Leaving the files on the table, Adora pushes out of her chair and makes her way to the door. Just as she’s about to leave, she turns around to look at her friends. The tired smile is gone, replaced with a true grin, Adora’s eternal optimism already latching onto their new mission.

With a turn of the handle and a push of the door, she’s off to pitch her idea to their superior, leaving Bow and Glimmer alone once again.

Bow’s eyes idly scan the room and land on the sketch of their suspect, hung up on the information wall. The nearly featureless face stares back at him with dead eyes, and he picks up nothing but the vague suggestion of beauty and a head of unnaturally blonde hair.

 _That sketch creeps me out,_ he thinks.

Bow looks instead at Glimmer. He narrows his eyes, ever so slightly. Adora’s theory sounds promising, but wherever it leads, it’s not the real answer to their puzzle, and they both know it. Figuring out the Embassy’s side of the equation won’t tell them who their mystery woman really is. Glimmer was all too quick to agree with Adora’s proposal, eager for a way out of her half-formed suspicions. Bow’s doubtful that there even is a way out.

He remembers their investigation of the ADE Systems compound, remembers the month leading up to that night. Glimmer had somehow gotten it in her head that the break-in was the Soviets’ doing, and that simple idea was all it took to see an entire operation through to completion.

Glimmer may think she can distract herself with Adora’s shiny new plan, but Bow knows better.

Sooner or later, they’re going to have to talk about what they both suspect.

And he gets the feeling it’s not going to end well.

* * *

July Fourth. Independence Day.

It’s quite the holiday at FBI Headquarters, as Bow and his friends soon discover.

The usual bustle of activity is today shrouded in heady excitement. Not only is it the most American day of the year, it also happens to be a Friday.

All through the halls, agents are discussing their plans for the evening; Bow weaves his way through giddy conversations and eager faces, returning early from his lunch break once again. As he listens to the chatter from other agents, he thinks about the get-together he and Glimmer have planned with Catra and Adora later that night; he’s looking forward to it. He clutches a small bag as he steps into the office, a half a sandwich he’s saved for Glimmer.

In the secure room, Glimmer isn’t napping like she usually does. She’s instead upright in her chair, staring at the sketch of the potential KGB operative.

Bow sets the bag down on the table next to her, and she wordlessly reaches for it, eyes still boring into the possibly-familiar face.

Bow supposes she must not be as creeped out by the sketch as he is.

Finally, Glimmer tears her gaze from the woman, glances up at Bow, and gives a small smile in thanks. Bow moves to sit down, and Glimmer hesitantly begins to ask a question.

“Do you think….?” Her voice is small. Vulnerable.

Bow knows exactly what she’s asking, has waited a month for her to bring it up. He helps her along as softly as he can.

“I think that _you_ think. If that makes sense. Glimmer, the Embassy is only one side of this. If you have a lead, any lead, about… the other side, shouldn’t we investigate?”

Glimmer swivels around in her chair, facing the table and taking a bite out of the sandwich. She looks thoughtful as she chews.

Bow is aware that she’s stalling, but knows rushing her will just make it worse. 

_She’ll get there._

Glimmer swallows her food, then bites at the inside of her cheek. She takes a breath as if to say something, then pauses.

“I’ve been trying not to indulge this, Bow. I’ve been trying to leave it alone. Because if it’s true…”

The words hang in the air, charged with possibility and danger.

Glimmer looks Bow in the eyes, and says, impossibly quiet, “I need to know who it was, that night. I need to know if it was her.”

Bow waits a beat, and then says simply, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Glimmer echoes.

“What abo--”

“We can’t tell her. We can’t tell Adora.”

Bow clenches his jaw slightly, then releases it. He doesn’t like the idea of lying to their best friend. But then again, this is… 

This is a delicate matter.

At Bow’s lack of response, Glimmer just chuckles to herself softly, and says, “Fuck, you know she can’t act to save her life.”

_Dammit._

_She’s right._

* * *

At 8 that evening, Bow and Glimmer arrive at Catra’s house, bottles of alcohol in hand and no fireworks in sight.

Catra greets them enthusiastically, and gives Glimmer a small hug as they trundle through the doorway.

“Hey you two! You know where the everything is, make yourselves at fuckin’ home. Ready to get wasted and try not to think about all the loud noises tonight?” Bow gives a little cheer alongside Glimmer; they’d all agreed a week previously to stay inside and have a simple evening of drinking and board games. None of them are fans of fireworks, as it turns out.

Adora emerges from the hallway a second later, and beams when she sees Bow and Glimmer.

“Guys!” She rushes forward and scoops them both up in a hug, the pressure threatening to crush Bow’s ribs.

“A-- dora-- put-- dow--”

Adora sets them down immediately, an apologetic look on her face.

“Oh shit, sorry Bow. You know I get too worked up, heh…”

“You saw us like three hours ago!” Glimmer laughs, kicking off her shoes.

Catra loops her arm through Adora’s, leads her to the living room. “Alright, c’mon dummy. Don’t want to hug our guests to death, do you?”

Adora gets a smug look on her face even as she’s being steered toward the couch like a disobedient child. “ _Our_ guests?”

Catra deposits Adora onto the sofa, and just scoffs. “Will you get over yourself? Yeah, we’re gay, I get it. Stop being such a dork!”

As Catra grabs the bottles from Glimmer and walks away to the kitchen, Adora calls after her, “You like it though!”

Bow and Glimmer are still in the foyer, watching the scene unfold before them. Glimmer catches Bow’s eye with a smirk, and her look says, _idiots._

They follow Adora into the living room, plop themselves down in a love seat, careful not to sit _too_ close to each other. Their relationship isn’t quite ready for sharing, they’d agreed.

_Not that Catra and Adora would judge. They’re literally both lesbians._

Bow is grateful for the trust that Adora, and now by extension, Catra, have placed in him and Glimmer. He knows it hasn’t been easy for them, though he’s glad they’re able to let loose around their friends.

Of course, his situation with Glimmer is slightly different than being gay. They aren’t quite sure how to bring it up, but he knows they’ll find the right time.

Bow is perfectly content with being patient.

He and Glimmer are dating either way, and nothing can take that away from them.

Bow’s heart rate picks up a little at the thought, and he can’t help a grin from forming on his face.

_I’m dating my best friend!_

It still makes him so happy he thinks he might die.

* * *

The evening goes by just as smoothly as the rest have, their get-togethers now a weekly tradition. They’re crowded around the dining room table, rowdily attempting to get through a game of Monopoly.

Glimmer almost spills her glass as she reaches across the table to move her battleship figure to a chance space.

“Hey, watch it sparkles!” Catra cries, steadying the drink before it has a chance to topple.

Glimmer rolls her eyes and growls, “I’m on a streak here, Catra. I don’t have time to worry about things like _grace_ or _not knocking things over._ Nearest railroad, fuck yes!!”

Just as Glimmer goes to move her figure again, an enormous _boom_ sounds from just outside, making all four of them jump.

Catra in particular, Bow notices, gives a small yelp in surprise.

Adora notices too, and immediately launches into protective mode. 

“Fucking kids!” she yells. “What is the fascination with making things explode _that_ loudly? Some of us just wanna relax!”

Catra recovers from her shock, and smiles at Adora. “Babe, it’s fine. Also, you sound like suuuch a grandma when you say _kids,_ Jesus! What are you, an old lady?”

Glimmer nods playfully, and interjects, “Ohhh, yeah. 33, now _that’s_ an old woman. I think you’re the baby here, Catra. 31? Are you sure you can even be drinking?”

A blush rises to Catra’s cheeks at the teasing.

“I’m not a baby!” she roars unconvincingly.

Bow can’t help himself. He chuckles a little.

_It’s just so… cute!_

Catra rolls her eyes at him in an exaggerated way. “No, don’t give me that look Bow. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not.”

Bow just grins.

Adora leans against Catra’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow suggestively. “I dunno, _I_ think you are.”

Catra shoves playfully against Adora, and purrs, “Of course you do, silly. You can’t even take your eyes off of me. It’s embarrassing, honestly…”

Glimmer clears her throat to get their attention before it wanders, and reaches for her piece a third time. “Ahem! Before we were rudely interrupted, it _was_ still my turn. I’m just gonna go to the Rea--”

Another _boom_ rocks the house, and they all jump again.

Catra looks less amused this time, and quietly slips out of Adora’s arms and heads through the sliding glass door, out to the porch.

Adora doesn’t seem too worried, so Glimmer begins to move her piece.

“Hey, wait!” Adora cries. “Nearest railroad means relative to the direction of play. You can’t go backward!”

Glimmer yells something in response, but it fades slightly as Bow focuses instead on Catra, who’s standing on the patio now, looking out into her dark backyard. A small red glow plays across her face.

“Excuse me,” Bow says quietly, not even audible over the argument Glimmer and Adora are now having about the implied rules in chance card instructions.

He walks outside, and the warm summer night washes over him. He slides the glass door shut, dulling the sounds of yelling from inside and allowing a detached calm to fall over the scene. Bow silently moves forward and stands next to Catra.

The woman turns, regards him for a moment, and then holds out a small box.

“Cigarette?”

Bow shakes his head and says politely, “No thank you. I don’t smoke.”

Catra retracts her arm and sighs.

“I know. Not sure why I offered.”

_Huh._

“What are you doing out here, Bow?”

“I was gonna ask you the same question. Noise getting to you?”

Catra holds his gaze for a moment, and says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

She takes a slow drag, then lets her arm drop, hanging limp at her side. She looks… tired.

“Catra, can I ask you a question?”

“Can I stop you?”

Bow chuckles, appreciating how blunt she is.

“I suppose not. I’m actually… concerned, about you. I know you’re putting on a performance in there, but I see right through you. You’re clearly exhausted. Are you sleeping?”

Catra turns fully toward him, a serene sort of half-smile on her face. The look in her eyes is unreadable.

“Sure,” she says, with a small nod.

Bow isn’t sure whether to be convinced or not.

Catra just puts the cigarette to her lips again, not seeming to notice Bow’s uncertainty.

They stand in silence for a few seconds, until Catra breaks the spell with a question of her own.

“Adora deserves someone special, doesn’t she?”

Bow blinks in confusion.

“Of course she does. She’s the best person I know. She deserves everything.”

Catra drops her spent cigarette, reaches immediately for a fresh one.

“She deserves better than me.”

Bow isn’t sure how to respond to that. Why is Catra even opening up to him like this in the first place? Sure, they’re friends, hopefully someday even better friends than they are now. But he’s taken aback by the honesty of this version of Catra. She speaks slower and has less bravado than the confident Catra that she is around Adora. Now, she seems… smaller.

“Catra, do you know how happy you make her?”

Another drag, and she turns her head a fraction.

“Do I?”

Bow nods, hoping to get his point across.

“Absolutely. You’re all she ever talks about. Catra, it’s obvious that you’re… different. Different from any other girl, both to her and in general. You’re pretty kick-ass, you know that? Adora is a lucky woman to be with you, and you’re an even luckier woman to have her. Why are you doubting yourself?”

Catra goes through the entire second cigarette before she answers.

“Things are… getting to a certain point. I’m afraid of… fucking this up. I know you’re right, I know she’s incredible. She’s so fucking sweet and unbearably nice, and she’s funny and so fucking stupid, and… I… I feel different about her. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever…” she lets her voice trail off into nothingness, giving a scoff and grabbing for her cigarettes again. She pulls out a third and places it in her lips, but stops before she lights it. She plucks it back out of her mouth between two fingers, holding it delicately. She sighs, laborious and drawn-out.

“I care about her, Bow. I lo--”

“I know.” Bow cuts her off. “I know that.”

Catra doesn’t look shocked or surprised, just relieved.

“Yeah, I… I figured you might. I can tell you’re sharp. My point is, I don’t always feel… like I _should_ feel that way. There’s not a rulebook for this shit, you know? Things are a little fast and loose. I just… I _can’t_ mess this up. I’ll never forgive myself if I do.”

_God, I really hope she’s not our spy._

_It would break Adora’s heart._

Bow thinks about his short time with Catra, how much he already respects and admires her, especially for treating Adora so well.

If this keeps up, it might just break his heart, too.

* * *

The following Monday, Bow and Glimmer have a difficult task ahead of them.

The day is about to wrap up, and they’re sitting through a last-minute briefing about Konstantin Burov’s ongoing surveillance.

Bow isn’t particularly keen to begin their secret investigation.

Glimmer, on the other hand, has spent the entire weekend consumed by a nervous energy. Since fully allowing herself to voice her suspicions of their friend, it’s quickly become the only thing occupying her mind, just like Bow thought it would.

Her restlessness now manifests as a bouncing leg under the table, the only indicator of the stress they’re both feeling.

Adora watches attentively from her seat nearby as two agents at the front of the room display photos of Burov, rattling off the previous week’s observations.

“... schedule is definitely suspicious,” one of them says.

“How so?” Adora asks, leaning forward eagerly.

“For one, he’s up at odd hours.” the agent continues. “Most everyone in the Embassy maintains a stricter schedule than Burov. There’s folks up and about ‘round the clock, of course, but he’s the only one who seems to come and go whenever he pleases. The loose schedule and the lack of a defined role might suggest that he’s doing something other than just messing around with computers in the Embassy all day.”

Bow chimes in, actually curious about their developments.

“Has Burov met with anyone suspicious? Or anyone at all?”

The agent pulls out another photo, dated one week prior.

“One close call. He was walking in a park and passed by a woman in a red coat, unclear if they had any contact. They were quite close to each other, and moving slowly. They could have said a few words, though we couldn’t see either one’s face. It’s the closest he’s gotten to anyone in weeks.”

Adora nods, looking pleased with the discovery. 

“This could be contact with an Illegal. Good work. Keep at it until he really slips up. It’ll happen, eventually.”

The agent places the file of surveillance notes on the desk, and says, “Yes sir. I-- wait, I’m sorry, I mean ma’am. Yes ma’am.”

Adora blinks once, pauses. An odd smile spreads across her features. “That’s alright, Agent Reed. We’ll see you in a few days, update us if anything big happens.”

Reed blushes a little at her slip-up, but just says, “You got it.”

She and the other agent head for the door, until the three friends are left alone.

Bow can feel the silence that hangs between them, almost as though it were a physical object. The air is dense with anticipation, but Bow supposes only two of them are even aware of that.

After a moment, Adora turns to Bow and Glimmer, and announces, “Alright, looks like that’s it for the day. I’m exhausted, let’s get out of here?”

Bow catches Glimmer’s eye in a quick sideways glance, and they wordlessly agree to roll out the excuse they’d planned over the weekend.

Glimmer delivers her line almost verbatim. “Uh, sure. You can head down without us though, we need to stay behind and talk with Ward about a scheduling thing. It’ll take a while, so, we’ll see you tomorrow?”

Adora doesn’t seem to find anything odd about that, and shrugs as she says, “Yeah, no problem. Hope you guys can get it worked out!”

She rises from her seat and goes in for a hug.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow, love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Glimmer and Bow echo simultaneously.

Adora releases them and with a flick of her ponytail, she’s gone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Glimmer bursts, “Fuck!”

Bow sighs. “That bad, huh?”

“Yes! But I’m gonna see this through even if it kills me. Now c’mon, we have to go convince Ward to let us spy on a goddamn civilian.”

* * *

A week later, the background check for Catra Álvarez is completed and turns up almost nothing.

“God, if she wasn’t so hot and mysterious in real life, I’d say she was boring as hell!” Glimmer fumes. “I mean seriously! She had a husband? Yeah, okay. Trust me, that girl is _not_ bisexual. Have you seen the way she eye-fucks Adora?”

Bow smiles despite Glimmer’s clear frustration.

“I have seen it. I’m pretty sure it’s obvious to anyone who’s around them for more than five minutes.” Bow blushes a little at how much his friends have been displaying their physical affections lately. How different it is for him and Glimmer, even in private. He shakes off the thought and continues. “But she definitely had a husband. Adam. Seems like such a simple guy, compared to her. She doesn’t have any living family though, isn’t that… you know. Promising?”

Glimmer throws back her head and lets out a groan.

“Yes, it is! And that’s terrible, Bow. I really would love it if she just… I mean, she’s normal! Hell, she’s nice. She’s nice to us, Bow. She’s so good to Adora. I can’t handle it if she really is some sort of fucking spy, but… god, I have this awful feeling. And I know you do too.”

“.... Yeah.”

_She can’t be. She just can’t be._

Glimmer sighs deeply and then suggests, “Let’s find out where she was, that night. If she doesn’t have a good alibi, then… I hate to say it, but we might need to surveil her too. If Adora can do it for Burov, why not us for her? As horrible as it is… I have a hunch too. I think it’s time to act on it.”

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Things have never been weirder.

The unique pressures of Catra’s job seem to ebb and flow like the tide, these days. One moment, she’s worried about a nuclear disaster threatening her people, and the next she’s getting her brains fucked out by Adora. It's giving her emotional whiplash.

Her missions are disparate, untethered things. Bug an office. Swipe some papers. Wear a wig and go take some pictures.

Catra knows she’s being held at arm’s length. She doesn’t need to see Weaver every week to understand she’s being punished. Whether for her sloppy performance or her insolence, she’s unsure. The months have passed in the blink of an eye, and the only thing that’s really kept her grounded is…

Adora.

Still technically her mission. Weaver hasn’t bothered to ask anything else of her lately. Does she understand that this is a long game, or has she just lost interest? Catra doesn’t dare question it, just knows that the more it’s left alone the better.

Through all the giggling and the kissing, Catra has, these past months, discovered something deeper even than what she imagines love to be.

In Adora, she’s found an equal.

She wakes up in the mornings, sore from the night’s activities, and Adora is always hungry for more. She has a bad day and craves the tenderness of a warm hug, and Adora’s right there. She even needs to cryptically offload her thoughts about the job, and Adora seems to understand on some deep, unspoken level.

Sometimes, Catra wonders who’s really working who. Adora has infiltrated her life just as much as Catra has done to her, only she’s accomplished it without so much as an ill thought. Adora doesn’t seem to have a bone of malice in her body, existing simply as an endless wellspring of optimism and honesty and goodness. Catra desperately wants to let herself be washed clean in that spring.

She’s tired.

She’s so, so tired.

Not for the first time, she lingers on the idea of simply… telling Adora. Of throwing herself once again at the mercy of this woman and trusting the depth of their connection.

But she knows she can’t.

_It doesn’t matter if you love her or not. Love doesn’t win wars._

She’s snapped out of her spiraling thoughts by the clear, bubbling sound of Adora’s laughter.

_Always keeping me grounded._

Adora recovers from her giggling fit and turns to Catra, her gray eyes full of life and playfulness.

“Hey, you still with us?”

Catra takes a second longer to respond than she’d like, almost getting lost in the tender expression on Adora’s face.

“Wha-- oh, yeah. I’m here.”

Glimmer snickers from across the table, and Bow just gives her a knowing look.

That’s right. Dinner.

They’re out for dinner, at some restaurant Adora had begged to come to.

“What, uh, what were we all talking about? Sorry, I kinda spaced there for a second.”

“Mhmm, you mean you were busy making bedroom eyes at Adora?” Glimmer teases.

More aware of her surroundings now, Catra tenses up. “Shut up, sparkles. We’re in public,” she hisses.

She feels more than sees Adora go stiff, and Catra internally cringes as she realizes how that must have come across. She’ll have to smooth that one over, later tonight.

To her credit, Glimmer catches herself and lowers her voice.

“Oops. Sorry, guys. I keep forgetting most people are, you know…”

“Pieces of shit?” Catra supplies helpfully.

“Yeah,” Glimmer replies, nodding. “That.”

There’s a beat of silence, and for once that night, they aren’t the loudest table in the restaurant.

Glimmer follows up her awkward moment by forcefully suggesting to Adora, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom! You should come with me, Adora.”

She stands up and grabs for Adora’s hand. As Adora is being led away, Catra catches her eye and flashes what she hopes is an apologetic look. Adora grimaces, her gray eyes stormy and distant. She’s tugged completely out of sight by Glimmer, rounding the corner and disappearing.

_Fuck. You really messed that one up._

She’s left alone with Bow, and thankfully, she can already feel the tension start to leave her body. For some reason she can’t quite pin down, Bow is becoming a calming presence in her life. As their little group hangouts have continued on for two months now, Catra feels drawn to him. Normally, she’d find his piercing gaze and surprising emotional intelligence to be intimidating. She might be worried about being discovered. But Bow’s not interested in scrutinizing her, opting instead to be a gentle encouragement when she needs it most.

She’s thankful for that.

Catra understands why Glimmer is so obviously attached to him. In fact, with the girls gone, now would be a perfect opportunity to…

“I kinda fucked that one up, huh?”

Bow gives a small smile, and agrees with a hum. “Well, maybe. Adora just doesn’t like being treated that way, you know?”

“Like what?”

Bow shrugs, but of course knows exactly what he’s talking about. “She doesn’t want to be pushed away like that. I know things are… weird, and kind of undefined with you two. She knows it too. But just, maybe have a little more faith in her. You’re different, remember? She just needs a reminder of that, from time to time. The other girls she’s been with, if they weren’t leading her on, were quick to hold her just out of reach. Not quite… there, you know?”

_Not quite there._

Catra knows what he means.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll give it a try. I just don’t want to get weird looks, or worse, get kicked out of some place she likes coming to. It’s a fucked up world out there, and most people hate us. But… you’re right. I need to give her some more credit.”

Bow beams at her from across the table. “There it is! See, you do care!”

Catra can’t help the chuckle that escapes her, or the small grin she feels tugging at her mouth.

“Yeah, I guess I do. You’re pretty good at that, you know? Making people care. You’re sweet, Bow. I can see why Glimmer likes you.”

Predictably, Bow sputters a bit, his voice cracking and rising in pitch as he rushes to deny it. “No, Glimmer and-- we’re just friends, Catra! Why would--”

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” she cuts him off. “And no, I won’t tell Adora. She’s a dummy, but… she’ll figure it out eventually, on her own.”

Catra isn’t sure _why_ Adora doesn’t already know, but figures it’s not her place, even despite how close they’ve all gotten. If they haven’t told her yet, there must be a reason. She respects her new friends too much to be the one to spill their secret.

Bow looks taken aback, but after a moment he says softly, “I guess you figured us out, huh? I can tell you’re sharp.” He repeats Catra’s own words back to her, with a twist she supposes is fitting. She _is_ sharp.

“I don’t know why you haven’t told Adora, and it’s none of my business. Just… I see the way you look at each other. It’s cute.”

Bow flushes at that, but then does a double take and looks, for the first time, like he’s offended.

“Really, Catra? Cute?” he asks, voice slipping into a higher pitch once again.

She just smirks, and takes a pull of her cider.

“Hey, I know I might not be able to dish it, or take it, or whatever the phrase is, but… really. You two make a nice couple.”

She means every word, and notes how little she’s had to lie recently. Stepping into her role as a friend has been almost effortless, and she need not put work into her deception when their connection doesn’t have to be forced. She genuinely finds herself wanting these two goofballs to be happy.

_Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going soft._

* * *

By the time they’ve made it back to Catra’s house, Adora isn’t quite as mad. Catra’s slip-ups never seem to leave any lasting impact on Adora, but she can tell they sting all the same.

Every time it happens, she hates herself a little bit more.

Adora moves wordlessly through the house, and Catra follows her, down to their bedroom.

She catches herself. _Their_ bedroom? Of course, at this point, anything less feels dishonest. Each of their houses, bedrooms included, have become a shared space, belonging to neither and yet owned by both.

_What’s mine is hers._

When they reach the bedroom, Adora slips inside and sits on the edge of the bed. Catra sets herself down right beside her, and wraps her arm around Adora's shoulder in a sideways hug.

When Catra speaks, it’s hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Adora doesn’t respond right away, but Catra can feel the stiffness leave her shoulders. Her posture relaxes, and she completes their embrace, her strong hand coming to rest delicately around Catra's waist.

“I know, Catra.”

The words aren’t laced with sadness, but understanding. Connection. Adora continues, voice small and breathy.

“I wish things were different. I wish people wouldn’t lose their minds if we… I don’t know, kissed in public, or something.”

The simple words hit Catra with unexpected weight, and she finds herself holding back tears.

Out of every fucked up thing in her life, _this_ is what gets to her?

The thought of her relationship with Adora being a secret forever is like a physical blow. It feels wrong.

“I know what you mean, Adora.”

She feels another wave of appreciation for their friends, bastions of support and acceptance among the cruel and unforgiving outside world.

“You’re lucky to have friends as good as Glimmer and Bow. Especially with your job. They’ve really got your back, huh?”

Adora turns her head to face Catra, eyes shimmering with… something.

“They’re your friends, too. They’re _our_ friends.”

_What’s hers is mine._

Catra smiles at that.

“Well, then I guess _we’re_ lucky. Not just you.”

Adora presses a kiss to the top of Catra’s head, slow and gentle.

“Yeah. We are.”

* * *

When Weaver contacts her for a meeting, it almost comes as a surprise.

Almost.

It’s been the usual three weeks, Catra supposes, and August has rolled around. Strictly going by the calendar, it’s time for a check-in.

But she still feels a little caught off guard. Every time they speak, she dreads what she’ll be asked to do next. What danger she’ll have to put herself through, what she’ll have to lie about this time.

Of course, her missions have been trivial lately like never before. She awaits the crushing blow of a truly horrifying assignment, but it never seems to come.

She’s wary of Weaver’s reluctance.

The request for a meeting specifically mentions the house, and Catra shudders a little. She’s been able to avoid that place for a while, with most of their meetings taking place quickly and discreetly in someplace public, like a park or a diner.

The meeting house tells Catra that something bad is going to happen.

 _Or at least, something worse than usual,_ she thinks.

In the day leading up to the meeting, Catra refuses to eat.

With Adora at work, she instead spends her time on the porch, chain-smoking in the summer heat. The combination sickens her, but she’s not sure what else to do. There’s a buzzing in her ears and her stomach that just won’t go away.

After yet another sleepless night, the morning has arrived. Catra climbs into her car a little earlier than she needs to, and heads out of her suburb.

She's soon taunted by the house’s familiar brick exterior, and after she comes to a stop she falls into her old habit. She sucks down a deep breath and prepares herself as best she can. And then she’s on the move.

Up, up, up the steps, and knocking on the door.

She can feel sweat start to form on the back of her neck, and it has nothing to do with the heat of the morning.

Weaver answers the door with her usual silence, and Catra pushes past her nervously.

Once she’s inside, neither she nor Weaver speaks. Catra silently vows that she won’t be the one to give in.

_She brought me here, she can be an adult and tell me what she wants._

_I won’t play her game._

They remain in their stand-off for about a minute, until Weaver relents. With a flash of her cruel eyes, she drawls, “It’s Adora, isn’t it?”

_Oh no._

_Not good._

“I-- what do you mean?”

Weaver scoffs, and glides closer to Catra.

“She’s to blame for your lackluster performance lately, is she not?”

Catra picks her words carefully, knowing this is dangerous.

“I don’t know, am I not performing up to your standards?”

“You’ve _never_ performed to my standards, you wretch!”

Catra flinches, almost imagines Weaver’s hand striking her across the cheek. But there is no blow, and Catra clenches her jaw as she realizes it’s just a memory. Weaver doesn’t need to resort to that anymore, not when her words are just as bruising.

“I knew this would happen, of course. I’ve told you time and again, but you refuse to listen. You’re easily distracted.”

“She’s my fucking target, what do you want me to--”

“Silence!” Weaver seems to grow taller as she raises her voice, the air around her almost visibly darkening with hatred and anger.

“You seem not to understand. There’s something big coming, Catra. Changes to the world that we can’t reverse. You’ll need your wits about you, if you are to properly carry out The Center’s orders through this difficult time. All these summits and peace talks… they will mean nothing if _you_ are not ready to act.”

Catra is lost now, totally unsure of where Weaver is going with this line of thought. Distractions? Act?

_She’s delusional._

But no sooner than Catra’s mind reaches for answers does Weaver so generously supply them.

“You’ve grown much too comfortable. Adora is little more than another distraction, and she’s of no use to us any more.”

Catra’s heart begins to pound as she absorbs Weaver’s words.

_No, she doesn't mean--_

“Kill her, and be done with this. You have more important things to focus on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bow POV? Bow POV. Got any thoughts on this chapter (or that cliffhanger)? Any theories about what will happen next?
> 
> Leave a comment if you want, I read them all and enjoy engaging with you guys!


	12. setting fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora has an argument. Catra pulls rank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: blood, and fairly graphic depictions of bodily functions, e.g. vomiting.
> 
> Thank you for enduring that cliffhanger, and please enjoy chapter 12!

**_Catra_ **

Catra has never disobeyed an order.

At least, not directly.

Her tenure as a KGB officer has been riddled with unruliness and petulance. She completes her missions in the either most unconventional of ways, or with enough attitude to concern even a schoolteacher.

She makes mistakes, sometimes does sloppy work, almost gets caught.

She has missed deadlines and has exercised every iota of freedom her unique position offers her.

She has been insubordinate and combative, to the point of physical blows from her superiors.

She’s gotten away with murder.

But through it all, she always does the one thing that seems to matter most.

She finishes the job.

Catra is the best of the best, consistently professional in her results, operating with deadly efficiency.

She _always_ finishes the job.

As Catra stands rooted to the spot, she thinks she can hear her own heartbeat. She grits her teeth, tries to lessen her outward reaction.

_Weaver doesn’t get to know what this means. She doesn’t._

_Fuck!_

She’s forced to admit that this isn’t surprising in the least. She should have known this was coming, from the first moment that Weaver ordered her to get closer to Adora. This was the plan, from the very beginning. She’s being used, just like she always has been.

_It was stupid of you to think anything else. You’re a fucking soldier, and this is war._

There’s another thought, intrusive and ugly, new and unwelcome.

_Weaver’s right._

_You’re too comfortable._

_Adora is the fucking enemy._

Catra knows this is manipulation, pure and simple. Why on Earth would Weaver even have her get close to Adora in the first place? It’s a test. It’s always been a test, cruel and sadistic and with no correct answers. Catra can see this plainly now, laid bare and made achingly obvious.

But still…

_She’s right._

_You’re soft._

Catra’s feet are still planted firmly in place, and she doesn’t waver from her position of silent acceptance. Weaver can’t know what she’s thinking. Can’t know how much this hurts.

_“Kill her.”_

Some part of her, in the back of her mind, remembers a time when she herself had thought those same words about Adora, supplying them willingly and in a heartbeat. That had been months and months ago, and it feels even longer than that when Catra reflects on where her life is now.

She had thought those words on instinct. Some knee-jerk reaction, a fearful moment of panic and uncertainty.

But this is not panic.

This is an order.

Catra has never disobeyed an order.

Is she really going to start now?

Unable to contain the vibration that now runs throughout her entire body, Catra shoves roughly past Weaver, without so much as an acknowledgement that she’s heard the order. She stops at the door, her fingers on the handle.

Maybe she should say something. There’s certainly a lot she’d _like_ to say.

She lets out a low growl, a thousand venomous words competing to get out all at once. They die on her tongue and instead manifest as a sound of pure rage.

_That’ll have to do._

_Fuck._

She opens the door and is plunged immediately into the stiflingly warm morning air. Too-bright sunlight bombards her tired, sleep deprived eyes. She slams the door shut behind her and stalks down the steps.

She fumbles for her keys, heart rate picking up as she struggles to get into the shelter of her car.

The instant she’s inside, the keys are in the ignition and she’s gone.

* * *

Catra stands on her patio, dozens of spent cigarettes littering the space at her feet.

She has to occupy her time somehow. It’s another hour until Adora gets home. Another hour until…

_Fucking pull yourself together._

She lights a fresh cigarette with the dying embers of the last, and puts it to her lips. The moment she does, something catches in her throat.

Her diaphragm seizes up to the point of pain, seizes up even more after that. She falls to her knees, hacking and trying desperately to expel nonexistent oxygen from her lungs.

She doubles over in her efforts, body on fire and face pressed to the ground. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and when the air has fully left her body, she can make out a familiar coppery sting on her tongue. Saliva fills her mouth in an instant, the warning signs clear.

She wheezes in futile preparation for what comes next. Just as her body emptied her lungs, it now attempts to empty her stomach; there’s an unpleasant tug in her gut, and a bitter taste floods her mouth. She lets out a whimper as her abdomen contracts more, _more,_ though in vain. She’s gagging, choking on the meager contents of her stomach as saliva runs down her chin and the muscles of her throat strain. After what seems like an eternity, they release.

A small reprieve, and Catra gives a rattling pant, wiping away the combination of drool and tears that coats her face. Her vision clears slightly, and there on the concrete beneath her is a small pool of stomach acid. It’s flecked with stains of dark red, swirling into the off-yellow haze.

Catra sucks down another shaky breath, strings of spittle and bile still clinging to her lips. She cradles her head in her filthy hands, and fresh tears stream down her face.

A pitiful sob escapes her, followed by another, louder and more desperate.

She cries.

Catra cries and cries and cries, heaving gasps rolling through her like waves.

It’s all so different now.

The job never used to be this hard.

Things were easier, back when she didn’t care.

Back before Adora.

Hell, things were…

_They were better._

_Look at you. You’re a fucking mess._

_And for what?_

_Some girl?_

The words hurt. They hurt just as much as her stomach, screaming for relief. They hurt just as much as she does, her soul twisted with rage and agony.

They hurt just as much as the knife will, the blade she chose for the job burning in her pocket.

Things were safer, before Adora. Weaver seemed to yell at her less, and her missions weren’t as dangerous.

She didn’t have to worry about getting caught, or about Gorbachev and The Party and her loyalty, or any of it.

It all changed when Adora came into her life.

She’s at risk now, because of Adora.

She’s in _pain_ now, because of Adora.

She’s weak now…

...because of Adora.

Catra’s tears have stopped, and her shuddering breaths are slower, more even in their rhythm. Her blurry vision barely absorbs what’s in front of her, a mess of used cigarettes and bloody vomit and drool. The sight makes her gag, and she sits up slightly before it makes her wretch yet again.

From her new vantage point, she can instead see her backyard, can see the sky. It’s cheerfully blue today, and devoid of clouds. It’s a beautiful sight, and Catra wishes she could care more about it.

Instead, it just taunts her. Mocks her.

Reminds her of what it was like to be safe. Before… her.

_Dammit._

_All of this happened because of her._

_God dammit._

_That fucking…_

Bitch, is the word she wants to think. She holds back, knows that’s much too far.

_She’s not a bitch. She’s just the enemy._

_Just your target._

_And she always has been._

* * *

After getting herself cleaned up, Catra glances at the clock with dead eyes. It’s 5:12 in the evening.

And that means…

She knows what it means, refuses to acknowledge it further.

As if the universe has a morbid sense of humor, just then her sensitive ears pick up the sound of Adora’s car in the driveway.

This is it.

She hesitates before moving, knows that Adora needs to be in the house before…

She walks back and forth instead, fingering the lighter tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Her hand stills, she lets her arm drop.

_No, you don’t need any more of that shit._

_You just need to be safe again._

_Just a few more minutes, and you’ll be fine._

She paces until she can’t stand it anymore, until it becomes unbearable and her body buzzes with a terrible anticipation and a horrifying energy, waiting to be unleashed.

With a shake of her head, she redirects herself and moves straight for the door. Time to end this.

Her feet carry her with purpose across the hot pavement of the street.

She’s on the sidewalk.

Walking up the drive.

On the step.

Through the unlocked door.

Inside the house.

Through the foyer.

Down the hall.

Through the bedroom door.

Inside, Adora is shedding a slate-colored blazer, and slipping off her shoes. When Catra enters, Adora looks up with an expression of hopeful excitement. Her blue-gray eyes are filled with warmth. One look from Adora is all it takes; it’s over.

“Hey you!”

Catra’s heart melts.

The spell she’s under breaks.

Her tunnel vision disappears.

The hand in her pocket, a death grip on her knife, loosens slightly.

The feeling that’s been building inside of Catra all day – resentment, or rage, or both – suddenly crumbles. With two simple words, it all comes crashing down, and Catra can think clearly for the first time in months. 

_Fuck!!_

_What are you thinking?!_

_You idiot!_

Catra looks at the woman she loves, and realizes just how stupid she’s been to believe anything Weaver says.

“Hey, Adora.”

The words come out gentle and tender, the opposite of the horrible storm of lies that’s been broiling in her mind for far too long.

_Things weren’t better before Adora._

_Things are better now than they’ve ever been,_ because _of her._

Catra is stunned, unable to believe she’s just spent so long lying to herself about the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Her body isn’t responding to her commands, but she smiles at Adora, a look she hopes is kind and caring and full of love.

Her feet won’t carry her forward into Adora’s arms like she so desperately wants, but in that moment, Catra understands everything.

 _Adora_ is everything.

She wants nothing more than Adora, always and forever.

She’s not Catra the spy, not anymore. She’s Catra, Adora’s equal. Catra, Bow and Glimmer’s friend.

Catra, the American.

Every ounce of connection to her job is severed. Every semblance of that perfect track record of following orders is wiped clean.

_Fuck Weaver, fuck home, fuck all of it._

She drinks in Adora, standing before her like her something out of her wildest dreams, and she knows.

She has a new home now.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

Catra’s smiling at Adora. When she smiles, her freckles seem to come to life, dancing across her soft cheeks and lighting up her eyes. Her eyes, where there’s a special look. Sweet and tender and just for _her._

Adora loves that look, savors it every time she has a chance, and seals it away, in her chest, near her heart.

She loves knowing that Catra doesn’t give that look to anyone else.

She loves every freckle on Catra’s face, counts them in the morning when she’s asleep.

She loves…

Catra.

She hopes with all her heart that Catra loves her back.

Adora holds out her arms, expecting Catra to rush forward for a hug like she always does. But this time, she doesn’t move.

In fact, she looks… odd. Her cheekbones are more prominent than they have been in weeks, and the dark spots under her eyes are particularly pronounced. She’s been standing still for much too long, and her hand hasn’t once left the pocket of her leather jacket. Adora thinks that’s odd as well; it’s much too warm for a jacket like that.

“Hey, silly. You want a hug?”

Catra doesn’t respond. Her serene smile is replaced with a dazed look, as though she wants to be more present but isn’t sure how.

Adora lets her arms drop and takes a step toward Catra. As she does, she catches the unmistakable and now-familiar stink of cigarettes; worry begins to gnaw at her mind.

“You doing alright, Catra?”

Catra is shaken from her daze and returns the smile to her features, but it looks forced.

“Oh, yeah. I’m, you know. I’m fine.”

Adora’s not convinced. She takes another step forward until they’re face to face, and reaches for Catra’s hand.

Catra flinches at the contact and withdraws, shoving her free hand into her other pocket. Her stance becomes closed off. Guarded.

_Something is definitely going on._

“I’m not so sure about that. You seem a little, I don’t know, lost? Is there something going on? You don’t have to tell me, of course, but I’m here if you need me, okay?” Adora puts as much care as she can into her voice, feeling more concerned about Catra by the second.

Catra just gives a little sigh, tired and exasperated.

“Yeah Adora, I’m fine, really. I just… needed to see you, I guess. There’s, um. There’s nothing going on…”

Adora can’t help herself. She’s getting nervous, and she refuses to let this go just because Catra half-heartedly says it’s fine. Adora resolves that whatever they are, their relationship will _not_ be that shallow. She pushes forward.

“Catra, I… I’m worried about you. You smell like cigarettes, constantly. You’re exhausted all the time… I know you aren’t sleeping much. I can feel you leave the bed, in the middle of the night. I’m guessing you haven’t been eating, and I just… whatever it is, I know you’re under a lot of pressure. And I want to help.”

Another tired smile from Catra. Her voice is raspier than usual when she replies, “That’s sweet of you, Adora. It is. It’s just… this is something personal. You don’t have to care about this kind of thing.”

Adora almost scoffs, _are you kidding me?_ But she holds back, can feel the friction building between the two of them. She really shouldn’t push this, but…

“Okay, Catra. I trust you. I just… I do care, you know? I can’t help myself. I mean, you’re my girlfriend--”

The word slips out of her mouth before she remembers that they’re _not_ technically girlfriends.

_Shit..._

Catra frowns slightly.

“Am I?”

_Okay, I guess we’re doing this now._

“I don’t know! Because we’ve never _talked_ about it, Catra. When we started… whatever this is, you said we’d figure it out. But we haven’t… not really.”

Catra takes a step backward.

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it. Things have been good, right?”

Adora furrows her brow. “Well, I guess so? But it’s also really hard, sometimes. I don’t know what we can and can’t do in public, or in front of Bow and Glimmer, or even when it’s just us. I don’t know if something I do is going to make you pull away or not. It gets confusing, you know? I think we _should_ talk about it, but… do you not want to?”

“No, Adora, I--” Catra looks down at the carpet, and Adora knows there’s shame in her eyes. “I want to, it’s just, I’m worried about--”

“ _You’re_ worried? You’re the one who seems to know how we should act. You have it under control. What are you worried about?” Adora’s voice is getting louder, more panicked.

_Shit, where did this go wrong?_

“Adora, you don’t understand. I--”

“Really Catra? I don’t understand? Cause it seems like you’re just holding me at arm’s length. Fuck, I just… I can only take so much of that. There’s never been anyone like you, not to me. I don’t think I could take it if you don’t really want this.”

The words are tumbling out of Adora now, faster and faster, as though they’ve been stored up inside of her, just waiting for an opportunity to be released.

“I know things aren’t great, out there,” she gestures to the wall, past the space they’ve carved out for themselves, safe and secure. “It’s just how things are. I know it’s fucked up, but you don’t have to keep me at a distance, when it’s just us! I’m serious about this… are you?”

Catra looks defiantly up at Adora, her blue and yellow eyes flashing with something dangerous. It sends a shiver down Adora’s spine.

_Oh, fuck, did I go too far? Is this too much?_

“You know I’m serious about this.” Catra’s voice is tight, strained. “Why else would we both still be here? I’m sorry about the people in your past. You know I am... Look, Adora. There’s a lot of things… a lot of things I wish were different.”

“But things _aren’t_ different. None of that matters, Catra. Either this is what you want, or it isn’t. Make up your mind.”

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth, but it’s too late to take them back now. And it’s not as though they don’t contain any truth... Adora knows that Catra cares. She just can’t bear any more uncertainty.

The words must really sting, because Catra finally raises her voice too, clearly hurt by Adora’s ultimatum.

“I don’t know, okay?! What happens to us, out there, it’s terrifying. I want things to be different, I want people not to be shitty about something as simple as two girls kissing. But people _hate_ us, Adora. You say it’s just how things are, but I’m _scared…_ Are you really ready to just, to just risk that? People might have hurt you before, but at least you have some experience, with this, with women. Adora, this is all new, to me. I care about you… I’ve been holding back because I don’t want this to break. I don’t want _us_ to break.”

Catra pauses for breath, and when she continues her voice is small and devastatingly honest.

“But I guess I made that decision on my own.”

The panic building inside of Adora dispels in an instant. It’s replaced instead with regret, and understanding.

_We’re afraid of the same things… Why haven’t we ever just talked about this?_

Adora had planned her next words to be loud, full of resentment. Instead she finds herself matching Catra’s tone, vulnerable and quietly pleading.

“Don’t I get a say, in what happens to us? Don’t I get a choice?”

Catra’s shoulders relax, and she holds out her hand for Adora to take, freely.

A white flag.

“And what do you want, Adora?”

Adora reaches for Catra’s hand, takes it in her own. She laces their fingers together and brings them up to her lips. She places a gentle kiss to the back of Catra’s hand, and when she pulls away, she stares directly into Catra’s beautiful eyes.

She knows exactly what she wants.

“You.”

Catra’s lips part, and she blinks once, twice. But Adora’s not done.

“And everything you’re willing to give me.”

They stay like that for a moment. Catra studies Adora, Adora studies Catra. Finally, there’s a tug on Adora’s arms. Catra raises their still-laced fingers to her own mouth, presses a matching kiss to Adora’s hand. When she speaks, her voice is firm and confident.

“Okay.”

Adora nods, can feel tears beginning to form. She adds one more thing.

“And I want us to be… together. For real. As partners, or girlfriends, or whatever you want to--”

“Equals.” Catra interrupts. “I want us to be equals.”

Catra’s confession takes Adora by surprise, and for a moment she’s not sure how to react.

_Equals…_

“That… sounds good. That sounds more than good. Can I… can I still call you my girlfriend? When appropriate, I mean. Not in public, obviously. But I just need to know, for me.”

Catra nods too, and her breathing picks up a little.

“Yes. God, yes, Adora. I’m sorry for holding back, I’m sorry for being weird about everything. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks, as long as we’re together. Yes, of course we can be girlfriends.”

Catra pauses, then flashes a smirk at Adora.

“I mean, we have pretty much been dating since the day we met.”

Adora smiles right back, and then bursts out laughing.

“It’s true! You-- checked me out the first-- first time you saw me! Did you-- like my muscles that much?” Adora asks between fits of laughter.

Catra’s laughing now too, her head thrown back in that cackle that Adora enjoys so much. She recovers quickly and grins, shoving Adora and sending her back a few feet.

“I did not check you out! I was just-- I was just paying attention to my new neighbor, okay? It’s not my fault your arms were just out there, for me to look at. What was I gonna do, _not_ look at them??”

Adora bounces back from Catra’s push, and closes the distance in between them, wrapping her arms around Catra in a hug.

Her laughter dying down, Adora leans in close. Her mouth right next to Catra’s ear, she whispers in a low voice, “I mean, you didn’t have to look at them like _that._ ”

Adora doesn’t have to look to know that she’s made Catra blush.

But Catra surprises her, and replies in a voice just as husky, “I wanted you so much… I thought about you all night long, that first day…”

Adora finds her hands slipping past Catra’s leather jacket, meeting the skin-tight shirt underneath. She caresses Catra’s side as she drinks in her partner’s whispers.

“Yeah? Were you that lonely?”

“Yes,” Catra purrs. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was waiting for something to fight for… and now I have it.”

The words wash over Adora with an unexpected intimacy. Her breath hitches and she’s more aware than ever of the distance between them. She pulls Catra closer until their bodies are flush, and feels a surge of protective instinct; she wants to keep this woman safe, wants to keep _them_ safe.

“That’s the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me,” Adora murmurs. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

If Catra notices Adora’s substituted wording, she doesn’t say anything. Adora feels a pleasant warmth settle over her at the thought. 

Catra speaks again, the rumbling of her chest vibrating through Adora’s body.

“This time, how about we talk about it all? About names we like and don’t like, about how much we’re comfortable with in public, or just around friends. I want us to be together on this. I’m sorry, again, for just… having my own ideas and not telling you. We should have been communicating about this stuff. I’m sorry I pulled away.”

Adora absorbs every word, relief flooding through her. _This_ is what she’s wanted. This is what she’s been hoping for. A thought tugs at her, latching onto Catra’s suggestion. Her voice is quiet, but even and measured when she asks, “Can I call you baby?”

Adora can feel Catra shudder underneath her touch.

“Yes,” she breathes in response.

Adora lifts a hand and cradles Catra’s head, threading her fingers through the mane of wavy brown hair.

“Okay. Then that sounds like a good plan to me. Thank you, baby.”

A thrill shoots through her at the pet name, and she savors how electrifying it feels on her tongue. She’s wanted to call Catra that for so long…

Catra pulls back slowly, and when their gazes meet, there’s a fire in her eyes that Adora can’t quite place.

“Thank you, Adora.”

Before Adora even has a chance to respond, Catra’s lips are on hers, needy and desperate. Adora melts at the contact, the stress and the strain of their almost-argument falling away into nothing. All that matters in this moment is that Catra is here, Catra is _kissing_ her…

Adora’s tongue darts forward, searching hungrily for Catra’s. They meet in a rush of sensation, and swirl around each other greedily. Adora thinks she could get lost here, in Catra’s taste…

They stumble backward, toward the bed, and Adora is struck by how similar it all feels to their first time; the sudden whirlwind of emotions, the surprising intimacy.

Lips locked and hands roaming, they fall back together and land on their bed.

A haze of lust settles over Adora’s mind, and before she knows it, their clothes are discarded, forgotten on the floor.

Catra’s hands are moving lower, and Adora grabs them, pins them up above Catra’s head.

“I’m in charge tonight. Is that okay?” Her voice is rough with desire, even to her ears.

Catra pupils are wide, her breathing fast. When she speaks, it’s uncharacteristically high-pitched, breathy and floaty with anticipation.

“Yes. I trust you.”

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra wakes to a gentle pressure on her arm, rubbing up and down in a firm but soothing motion.

She opens her eyes and is greeted by Adora’s bright eyes and a soft smile. Catra thinks this might be the most gorgeous sight she’s ever beheld.

“Hey sleepyhead. It’s just about time for me to get to work, I wanted to see you before I left.” Adora leans down and places a slow kiss to Catra’s forehead.

Catra sits up, the sheets falling off of her, and when she responds her words are slurred with sleep.

“Hmm ‘kay. You’re pretty.”

Adora gives a little snort, a smug expression settling onto her features. “You think I’m pretty?”

_Fucking dork._

Catra tactlessly shoves her hands into Adora’s face, pushing with no restraint.

“Yes, you dork! You’re hot, okay? Now go to work, it’s too early for this. I need my beauty rest.”

Adora grins again. “Hmm, whatever you say, Álvarez.” Her eyes lazily rove over Catra’s exposed chest, where there are half a dozen marks from the previous night, and then back up to her face. “I don’t think you need it though. You’re plenty beautiful already.” She gives a little wink and starts to stand up, but Catra shoots out her arm and grabs a fistful of Adora’s dress shirt, stopping her in place.

“Did you seriously just wink at me, at like 8 in the morning?”

“Yeah, I think I did.”

Catra scoffs. “Damn. You must really like me.”

“Of course I do, silly! Now let me go, I’m gonna be late.”

Catra obliges, but only after pulling Adora down for a real kiss.

“Alright, get out of here. I’ll see you later tonight?”

Adora stands up, straightens out her shirt. “Sure thing. Have a good day, baby.”

With a flip of her blonde ponytail, she’s out the bedroom door and she’s gone.

Catra falls back into the pillows, and lets out a contented sigh.

_Baby._

It’s a simple pet name, but the way Adora says it, so full of quiet reverence... Catra can almost believe that it was created just for her.

She listens to the slam of the car door outside, as Adora starts up the engine.

Catra is struck with a flash of memory, back to the first night she and Adora spent together. The panic of the morning after, and the regret of leaving Adora all alone…

She’d had orders hanging over head then, too. But her situation couldn’t be more different.

Now, Catra has a reason to say no.

She sits up, fully awake, and assesses what needs to happen. First and foremost is _not_ killing Adora. Okay.

_So far, so good. Although yesterday was a little too close of a call for my liking…_

_No. There’ll be plenty of time to beat yourself up later. Focus on saving Adora now._

Alright, saving.

_If Weaver found out about this..._

She gives an involuntary shudder at the thought. If she outright went against a direct order... No, she needs a way to get around this, to sidestep it.

Catra furrows her brow. Come to think of it, the orders are terrible anyway. Kill Adora? It would just bring her unwanted attention. Even if she didn’t care so much, the analytical side of her can see that the best option would be to just leave Adora alone.

_Weaver, you stupid bitch._

She needs to resolve this without her handler's knowledge.

A thought crosses her mind, a memory. Distant, but coming back with more clarity every second.

Of course!

She has a friend in The Center. Or as close as you can get to a friend in this business.

_Perfect. I gotta find a message runner._

* * *

Locating a message runner is, mercifully, quite simple.

Catra’s at a local park, idling on a bench.

The several runners work in shifts, and once a day, one will pass through this park as part of a schedule. The consistency allows Catra to contact the Rezidentura, if necessary, though she’s never had occasion to make use of this ability.

Until now.

She checks her watch. 11:43.

As she waits out the two minutes, she reflects that she’s grateful she had a chance to finally eat. After her incident yesterday, she desperately needed something, anything, in her system. She silently thanks Adora for always being her anchor, her motivation to be healthier… even when she doesn’t have the motivation herself. 

In her peripheral vision, Catra catches a glimpse of someone walking toward her bench. The timing is right, this must be them…

As they draw closer, Catra identifies them as Jesse, a runner who she’s been working with for a year or two now. She recognizes the dirty blonde hair, the light jacket. Jesse’s about twenty yards away when they stop in their tracks briefly, spotting Catra on the bench. They recover immediately and make their way purposefully toward the bench. Catra busies herself with the water bottle she’s brought along, and when she finishes her swig, Jesse is in front of her.

“Sit down, you look weird just standing there,” Catra says, voice low.

Jesse complies, and takes a seat on the bench next to her.

“You’ve never… done this before. Is there something going on?” Jesse asks, their voice filled with concern.

“It’s Weaver. She’s… look, it’s bad, okay? I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

Jesse faces Catra, a pleading look in their blue-green eyes. “He’s under surveillance these days, when he’s not at the Rezidentura. It’s on and off, but… I don’t think you should ris--”

“I have to,” Catra cuts them off. “If I don’t, everything’s gonna go to shit. Just tell me where he is, and you can get back to work.”

Jesse hesitates, but relents. “I think he intends to go out, in an hour. He visits the Georgetown Neighborhood Library, every Tuesday. You should be able to find him there.”

“That’s more like it.” Catra stands up from the bench, begins to walk away.

“Wait,” Jesse says. Catra turns and fixes them with a hard stare.

“What is it?”

The younger agent looks nervous. “If you’re going to see him… what does that mean for the rest of us? I’m not stupid, Catra. Something big is happening, isn’t it?”

 _Yeah, you could say that,_ comes Catra’s immediate retort. She holds back; Jesse can’t be older than 25, and they’re a good operative. They’re looking out for themselves.

_Just like me._

“It’ll be alright. Let me do my job, okay?” Catra tries to make the words reassuring, calm.

“Your job affects everyone, Catra.”

A shiver runs down her spine.

_They’re right._

Catra grimaces. “I know. See you around, kid.”

* * *

Catra’s newfound sense of purpose carries her across town, and within half an hour she’s reached the Georgetown Neighborhood Library. The huge building towers over her as she approaches it.

With its brick siding and white trimming, Catra thinks the architecture looks very… historic? Colonial?

_American._

As she climbs the few steps to the entrance, she’s struck by how similar it feels to the meeting house she uses with Weaver. Of course, by entering this building, she may never have to see the other again.

_One can fucking hope._

Once inside, she locates an alcove off the main entrance; there're a few scattered chairs that look comfortable enough, and it offers her a good vantage point of the front door. She grabs a random book off of a shelf, and settles in for her miniature stakeout.

Catra flips aimlessly to a page towards the middle, and brings the book close to her face. Her eyes are trained on the entrance. Time to wait.

Thankfully, Jesse was right, and it takes just twenty five minutes before he shows up. She knows the dark hair, the piercing gaze. She’s never met him in person, but has seen enough of his file to know him on sight. He walks inside, dressed in a smart suit, the kind every wannabe politician around this place seems to prefer. Catra supposes he is a politician, of sorts.

She silently rises from her perch, sets down the book. She trails him at a distance, through the shelves, up a set of stairs.

On the second floor, he stops in front of a small table of new releases; Catra’s not far behind.

She glances around, makes sure they’re mostly alone.

Heart pounding, she makes her move.

Catra walks slowly up to the table, a few feet to his left. She reaches for a book on top of the stack, flips it open, and without turning to him states in a low voice, “Konstantin Arkadyevich.”

The energy in the room shifts. He tenses up, her heart beats faster.

“I’m Catra Álvarez.”

A thick silence hangs between them for a moment. Konstantin clenches his jaw, swallows.

“I am often under surveillance.” His voice is deep, raspy, his Russian accent harsh.

Catra continues to stare straight ahead, not able to believe she’s actually doing this.

“I know, so you’ll appreciate the importance of what I have to say. You’re aware of my situation?”

Konstantin, thankfully, is a professional, and never once turns his head. He keeps his voice low, conversational.

“With the American agent, yes?”

“That’s right.” Catra takes a breath, and visualizes Adora. Her ponytail, her smile. Her laugh at the bar, her face when she falls apart late at night, a gasping mess. Catra forges ahead, fully unafraid.

“Weaver’s asked me to kill her, and it’s the wrong move. You and I both know that. I won’t be going through with it. Do whatever you want to Weaver to make her agree, but if she pulls something like this again, I’m finished.”

Catra’s mind flashes back five years, to a younger, less experienced Catra. The chaos of that March. An aborted mission.

“I know you’ve helped me before,” Catra continues. “And I appreciate that. If you know what’s best for our operations here, you’ll help me again.”

Konstantin sets down his book, and gives a small sigh.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Catra replaces her own book to the stack it came from, and finally turns to look Konstantin Arkadyevich in the eyes.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking thrilled to introduce this incredible cover art by @tanimaichi!! She is wonderful to work with and I highly recommend her for any art-related needs. Please please _please _give her a follow and support her beautiful art! @tanimaichi is her handle on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok.__
> 
> _  
> _You can find her Instagram right[here!](https://www.instagram.com/tanimaichi/)_  
> _
> 
> _  
> _Well, we are officially halfway through this story! What do you think will be the fallout of Catra's clever solution? And how can there _possibly _be 12 more chapters?? As always, these are questions that can only be answered by waiting until next Wednesday ;) In the meantime, comment with any reactions or feedback, I still read them all and appreciate it so much! Thanks for sticking with me halfway, here's to 12 more chapters. Till next time, folks.___  
> _


	13. diving to drown in you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weaver has a meeting. Catra makes pillow talk. Adora questions her loyalty and herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content, blood, and kink.
> 
> Thank you all for waiting an extra week, and please enjoy chapter 13!

**_Weaver_ **

Weaver is happy.

This is, of course, unusual.

The hardships of the job, along with a particularly worthless subordinate, mean that Weaver is frequently… in a foul mood.

But today, she is consumed by a sort of glee, eager anticipation for the fruits of her labors and months of planning. Catra Álvarez has been a thorn in her side for far too long, a useless creature bound to nothing but her own selfish desires, blind to the world around her. Weaver supposes this shouldn’t be surprising; she is little more than a child, after all. She could scarcely understand a thing about home even if she still lived there, so poor is her ability to discern what really matters to The Party. Regardless, her underling always manages to lead a kind of double life; pleasing The Center with her results one moment, while recklessly disrespecting Weaver’s authority the next. If Weaver had her way, well...

But finally, she has a way to retaliate. A way to back Catra into a corner, with no winning options. And Weaver can only stand to gain.

Her little romp with the American girl has made her weaker, left her vulnerable… and wouldn’t it be a shame to let that vulnerability slip by, waste away? The order to dispose of the FBI agent is simple enough. The options are clear, and few.

Catra can take the bait, and follow her orders. The Center has one less nosy American to worry about, and Catra will have finally proven her worth.

Instead, Weaver knows, Catra will likely refuse. And when she does, it won’t take much for The Center to see her as a liability. A threat.

Either outcome results in a decidedly easier job for Weaver, and torment for her favorite subordinate.

And so she waits.

She waits, and waits, and waits. And with each passing moment, the likelihood of Catra’s failure increases, along with Weaver’s enjoyment at the notion.

In a rare moment to herself, she lounges on the couch, a glass of red wine in hand.

 _The Americans may be rather unfortunately disgusting,_ she thinks, _but they do know their way around alcohol._

It’s late afternoon now, the day after Weaver’s fateful order. Had Catra completed her task, the end of the day should be as long as it takes to dispose of the body through the usual channels and clean everything up nicely. Of course, if Catra were half the operative she should be, proper body disposal would take no more than a few hours.

Still, Weaver is in no particular rush. Not much longer now, and Catra will either be more useful than ever, or a complication waiting to be… taken care of.

What she doesn’t expect is a polite knock on the front door. Polite clearly indicates that her unwanted guest isn’t Catra. So who…?

She sets down her wine, and glides to the house’s entrance. She obliges the knocker and finds herself face-to-face with a familiar operative. The vaguely brown hair and their youthful complexion give it away: Jesse.

“Yes? What is it?” Weaver snaps in annoyance.

Jesse furrows their brow, the action giving them the only visible wrinkles on their face.

_Children._

“He wants to meet.” Jesse extends their hand, clutching a small note. “New place though, to avoid his surveillance.”

Weaver just stares down at the note, before snatching it away.

“Is that everything?” she drawls.

Jesse gives a terse nod and scurries off, back down the steps. The door shut firmly behind them, Weaver makes her way back to the couch, unfolding the small slip of paper. It’s a thick scrawl, with short, heavy strokes forming just two simple directions:

**_D and 5th. 7_ **

She glances at her wristwatch. It’s 5:38 now, which seems to completely quash her plans for the evening. She grits her teeth, and searches for her coat. She knows she has to leave now to arrive punctually.

_What is it they call this time? Rush hour?_

She scoffs. _Damn Americans._

* * *

Weaver arrives right on time, parking on the side of the street at 6:59. It’s a residential area, the Capitol Hill neighborhood; the irony of their proximity to the nation’s beating heart is not lost on her.

Weaver scans her surroundings, taking in the disgustingly charming compact townhouses, the cheerfully green trees. The sun still shines brightly down through the leaves, the summer evening stretching on for an eternity as they always seem to do in this wretched place.

There are several other cars parked along the street, though one on the other corner stands out to her in particular. Sitting inside is a man she knows all too well: short, dark hair, a burning stare that could penetrate walls, and a lined face, betraying his experience.

Rage blossoms inside of Weaver like a distorted flower. If not for her practiced mask of indifference, her lip would curl in disgust.

Stiffly, she leaves her own car and makes her way across the street, to where Konstantin waits.

He doesn’t turn to look at her when she slides into the passenger seat, shutting the door tightly behind her.

“What is the meaning of this?” she spits, eager to get to the point.

“You’ve overstepped.” he states simply. His Russian accent is a stark contrast to the forced, counterfeit-sweet voice that Weaver’s adopted after decades in the States.

Weaver narrows her eyes. What does he mean? Surely, he doesn’t know about…

“Whatever do you mean? The Center hasn’t given me anything in a month or more. I am merely using my discretion, as you kno--”

“I know what you ordered her to do.”

There’s a sinking feeling in her gut, followed immediately by a flare of anger.

_He knows? That fucking girl…_

“Konstantin Arkadyevich, my orders are simply to protect her from outside influences. She’s becoming compromised by this American agent. I can see it, in the way that she’s performing. She needs to be remind--”

“Even after all these years, you seem not to understand what she means to The Center. Directorate S officers are not to be… bandied about this way, so carelessly. She is our greatest asset, and we need her now more than ever. What good does it do to upset her, with this foolishness?” Konstantin’s harsh words cut through the tension, right through Weaver’s feigned aloofness.

“I… she is still a child. Surely you must see that?”

Weaver is getting desperate now. This has quickly become a losing fight, and all because Catra couldn’t be bothered to follow simple orders. _Catra,_ the miserable wretch who shouldn’t even be alive...

“She is no more a child than you or I. You may know this, if you ever paid her any attention at all. The Rezidentura is well aware of the problems she faces, even if she does not know this directly. That she came to _me_ tells me all I need to know. She will not be going through with it. I’ve seen to that.”

“Kon--”

“No, Alyona. No more of this.”

The sound of her real name impales her, pins her to her seat. She notices the explicit lack of a patronymic, and the rage inside of her threatens to boil over. She clenches her jaw, just barely managing to get out one word.

“I--”

“Consider this a warning. Catra Álvarez is more valuable to Moscow than either of us. She is non-replaceable, and it would serve you well to remember that.”

 _And what would_ you _know about Moscow?_

Seething, Weaver takes a shaky breath and steadies herself. Her words drip with false resignation.

“Of course, Konstantin Arkadyevich. Whatever The Center wishes.”

He just looks through her, clearly not convinced. He takes a breath and pushes forward with his accented words.

“While you’re here, you should know there’s talk of another meeting. Reagan’s sent a letter laying out the general idea. They’re aiming for the fall.”

_Another meeting? That old fool…_

Weaver is skeptical.

“Why are you telling me?” she asks. “Surely, it would be better if I didn’t know.”

A thin smile creeps onto Konstantin’s lips.

“I have no doubt you’ll be made aware soon enough. Besides… I know you have your own thoughts on Gorbachev. I have mine. Let this be a… what do the Americans say? An olive branch?”

Weaver breaks her mask, truly curls her lip at the biblical reference.

“They do say that, yes…” she mutters.

“Then consider it as such. We all need to be prepared for the change that lies ahead.”

“I am prepared.” Weaver bites. “Are you?”

Konstantin says nothing in reply, merely stares through her with an indecipherable expression.

Weaver holds his gaze proudly, determined not to break. The game she’s playing, however, seems to be lost on him. He simply looks away after a beat, with an air of finality. It’s immediately clear that the end of their eye contact also marks the end of their interaction.

To accentuate his point, or maybe just to rub salt into Weaver’s wounded ego, he continues looking straight ahead as he says, “That will be all. And as for the operative… do not test The Center’s patience again. Or mine.”

At the final mention of Catra’s betrayal, Weaver’s eyes unfocus; red clouds her vision. Her hands threaten to shake with fury. She musters every ounce of self-control she possesses, and forces out the words, “I understand.”

Unable to tolerate her humiliation any longer, she grasps for the handle, and pries open the door. She stumbles out into the blinding sunlight, gives the door a rough push.

The second it slams shut, the engine roars to life and Konstantin is gone.

Fuming, Weaver stalks to her car, barely containing her wrath.

Her mind is a roiling storm of bitterness and hatred, thoughts of _revenge_ and _retribution_ swirling into a stew of resentment like none she’s ever felt.

And Konstantin Arkadyevich, a man who should know better, taking Catra’s side? They’ve had their differences in the past, but it seems he’s been caught up in Catra’s charms just like the rest of The Center.

They’re fools, all of them. Unable to see what really matters, and without the courage to do what is necessary.

A loose thread of connection forms in her mind; from her raw and unrefined anger, passing through her decades of deadly experience and expertise, flowing smoothly into schemes, ideas, plans.

Of course, it’ll be difficult to make a move against Catra now that she has support above Weaver’s head…

 _But no matter,_ she thinks.

_I can be patient._

* * *

A week passes before Weaver has even the barest hint of a plan. Every previous idea she’s formulated has run into the same fundamental issue, which is Catra’s regrettably acute perception.

It clearly isn’t enough to orchestrate a simple trap, hoping to ensnare her in amateur mistakes like refusing orders she finds unpalatable. Instead, Weaver will need something so mundane, so ordinary, that Catra won’t possibly object. No doubt she’s suspicious now, and at the very least full of resent. This will be a long game, but if she plays it right, Weaver may finally be rid of Catra once and for all.

Her opportunity arrives when a message runner stops by the meeting house, bringing intelligence from The Center. Weaver has had minimal contact with anyone since her run-in with Konstantin, and she’s not expecting something so soon.

The report contains several pieces of information, including confirmation of a potential meeting between Gorbachev and Reagan in the fall. It appears Konstantin was telling the truth, though she sets that aside to focus on at a later date. There’s also the usual outlining of goals and ongoing operations by lesser agents, which she has very little interest in. Something at the end of the report catches her eye, however. It’s a warning. 

Weaver scans the page, taking in the words in front of her even as her mind begins to work overtime to process what exactly she’s reading.

She reaches the end of the paper, and a giddy delight blooms deep inside of her. A small chuckle actually escapes her lips, a sensation she hasn’t experienced in years.

It would seem that the Rezidentura has, within the last week, become aware of new FBI surveillance, targeting one operative in particular.

Catra.

How fortuitous it is, that this opportunity is delivered directly into her clutches.

How wondrous it is, that she is now the holder and bearer of such dire news.

How justified it is, that she now directly controls whether Catra lives or dies.

Weaver practically jumps for joy, her heart leaping with potential and anticipation.

Catra can enjoy her time away from the job a while longer.

_Let her think she’s won._

All that’s left is to arrange a simple, useless assignment. Something basic, something incriminating. The FBI will do what they do best, and Catra will unwittingly lead them straight to the truth.

And when that happens, Weaver’s problems will be solved.

Permanently.

* * *

**_Catra_ **

The two weeks following Catra’s impromptu meeting with Konstantin Arkadyevich are easily the best of her life.

Turns out, aggressively asserting her worth to The Center had done the trick. Thank goodness for her position, otherwise things might have taken a much different path.

In fact, what is her position? Catra’s never given much thought to her rank, but supposes it must be quite high. She has a vague memory of her promotion to Captain before being assigned to the States. It’s a prerequisite for any high-level spycraft, she knows.

But now that she’s here, Catra guesses she’s been promoted since then. She seems to have authority over any agent that’s not Weaver or Konstantin Arkadyevich. Her extensive training made it clear that she’s been granted the power to recruit any American she sees fit, a skill that’s come in quite handy for riskier operations that require bodies. Commanding other KGB operatives in the field is also a given. Hmm.

Catra flips through her limited knowledge of intelligence ranks, and comes away with the conclusion that she’s at least a Major; bossing around that many people and getting away with as much as she has seems to demand stature like that, at least in her mind.

Of course, intelligence ranks are completely different from the army. She doesn’t really care anyway; it’s never been her primary focus, a distraction that feels beneath her. Feels like something Weaver might be obsessed with: status, rank, power.

Still, thank _fuck_ for the power she does wield.

Konstantin Arkadyevich has come to her rescue for the second time in her career, and for that she’s immensely grateful.

The first time was a day so chaotic she barely has any recollection of it. It’s a haze of fear, blurry with anxiety and the imminent threat of the world’s potential destruction.

  1. March. Reagan’s attempted assassination.



In hindsight, the whole thing was rather silly. Some nutjob, Catra had learned, was the real culprit. But in the cacophony and the hysteria immediately following the news, Catra was busy preparing for war. With no way to be sure who had actually done it, she’d had to fall back onto contingency plans she’d hoped never to touch. Protocols that involved hidden weapons caches, specially chosen targets. She’d almost gone through with it, too, if not for a well-timed abort signal, sent by none other than Konstantin Arkadyevich himself.

He was the brand new Rezident back then, another nameless, faceless superior in a long line of them, dating back to before she can recall.

But after that day, he was at least no longer nameless, and she had something of an ally.

And now, five years later, it’s all finally paid off, and Catra’s been blessed with her wonderful, perfect, untouchable two weeks of bliss.

She finds she doesn’t miss working even a little bit.

With more than one enormous stress gone from her shoulders, Catra finds herself sleeping better, and for longer. She immediately cuts back on the cigarettes and in just a few short days, quitting them completely seems well within her sights. She’s eating consistently, and finds her strength returning to her.

Through it all, Adora’s been right by her side, encouraging her and helping her to recover. She hasn’t asked questions about Catra’s health, electing instead to be a constant reassurance for her partner. Adora’s presence has always been calming, gentle, and tender. She has a way of drawing out the best in Catra, coaxing the few good qualities she has to the surface, and nurturing them.

Adora makes her better.

And so their days have consisted mostly of routine and domesticity. They aren’t doing anything differently than before their argument, but the context of their relationship has completely shifted. Whether it’s cooking dinner or doing their laundry, they work together in perfect harmony, transforming even the most mundane tasks into exercises in trust and love.

Catra finds herself becoming more affectionate than ever; she freely gives little pecks to Adora’s cheek whenever possible, much to her girlfriend’s delight. They’ve begun to spend fewer evenings tangled up together in bed, and have opted to sprinkle in a healthy mix of achingly plain television watching, cuddling on the couch. When she’s wrapped up safely in Adora’s arms, fully clothed, Catra thinks it might be the closest she’s ever felt to the woman she loves.

The straightforward and uncomplicated act of merely existing as one is far more intimate than Catra’s ever dreamed it could be. She melts into her partner, enveloped completely in _care_ and _love_ and _Adora._

Of course, not _every_ night has been like that.

Tonight, for instance, Adora hasn’t been able to keep her eyes off of Catra. All through dinner, Adora’s been shooting her little glances, some clearly filled with longing, others more subtle.

Catra notices Adora’s wandering gaze, sometimes even meeting her eye for a split second. Adora still blushes when she’s caught staring, a detail that Catra treasures with all her heart.

Post-dinner cleanup in the kitchen is silent, and there’s a comfortable tension between them as Adora’s obvious desire only continues to grow. As Adora stands at the sink washing the dishes, Catra flits around her, putting away dry plates and forks as they’re delivered to her. Each time she passes behind Adora, she allows her fingers to trail lightly from Adora’s side to the small of her back. Catra savors the hitched breaths, the fluttering eyelids.

_She’s really in a mood tonight, holy shit._

Catra returns from the cabinet to find the sink empty and their task completed. She smoothly sidles up behind Adora, slipping her arms around her partner’s waist.

Adora lets out a small sigh, and instantly becomes pliant at the touch. She spins on the spot to face Catra, moving in for a kiss. Before she’s able to, Catra pulls back, ever so slightly.

“Hmm, not yet.” Catra purrs. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re gonna have to be patient, okay?”

Adora sighs again, deeper, more petulant than reverent.

“Yeah, okay…”

“Aw, are you whining? C’mon princess, I know you’ve got more backbone than that.”

Catra punctuates her words by running a hand lazily along Adora’s spine, stopping just shy of her waistline.

Adora clenches her jaw and looks pointedly past Catra, not able to meet her eyes.

“Have I ever told you that you’re mean?”

Catra chuckles.

“Only when you want something that I’m not giving you.”

A low, tortured sound comes from Adora’s throat.

“Yeah, uh, I guess you’re right. Um. Can we, you know. Can w--”

“Can we what, Adora? Go ahead, take your time, I can wait.”

A blush appears on Adora’s face when she says in a small voice, “Can we uh. Have sex. Please.”

Catra raises her eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Oh, is _that_ what you want? Wow, I didn’t realize. Well, I suppose so. But on one condition.”

It’s Adora’s turn to raise her eyebrows, curiously, pleadingly.

“You’ll do everything I say.”

Catra states it simply, with no room for negotiation.

Adora nods vigorously, clearly eager to move things along.

_God, this is too easy._

“Yes, Absolutely, I can, uh. I can do that.”

_She’s so fucking cute when she’s flustered._

“Hmm, alright then.” Catra maintains her bored demeanor, but bubbles with excitement just beneath the surface. Adora, attending to her every whim…

“So? What are you waiting for, Adora?”

“I, you haven’t sa--”

“Kiss me, dummy.”

Adora takes to her first command enthusiastically, obviously relieved at the opportunity to finally touch Catra. Their lips collide in a swirl of lust and desire, and despite herself Catra almost lets out a little moan when their kiss deepens and their tongues meet.

_No, you’re in control. Don’t let her get you all hot and bothered from just a kiss, c’mon._

Catra composes herself just enough to break off for a split second, gasping out the words, “Bedroom. Now.”

All while messily and frantically keeping their lips locked, they stumble into the hallway, down to their bedroom. They thankfully make it to the room without incident, and Catra backs Adora up into the bed frame until she falls onto the mattress below.

It’s almost exactly like their first time, Catra reflects. Except now, she’s _really_ in control, not just imbued with a false sense of authority from years of acting. She knows exactly how to get under Adora’s skin, and that’s what she’s going to do.

Catra looks down at Adora’s expectant expression, gives a smirk. 

“Lie back on the bed.”

Adora complies, the implicit promise in that action clearly not lost on her. She positions herself in the middle of the sheets, head resting comfortably on the pillows.

Catra follows closely behind, sliding onto the bed and occupying the space next to Adora, as though to cuddle. She brings her body flush with Adora’s, basks in the warmth of their closeness. She presses a lazy kiss to Adora’s cheek, before swinging her leg up and over Adora’s waist. In one fluid motion, she springs upright, straddling her girlfriend.

Adora lets out a shaky breath, her eyes locked with Catra’s.

_That definitely got her attention._

Catra leans down slowly for a kiss, closer, closer…

She diverts her path at the last moment, denying Adora the contact she craves. She instead nips gently at the spot where Adora’s jawline meets her neck, earning a sharp inhale. Catra just grins into Adora, reveling in the heat that radiates from her tongue on exposed skin.

She scrapes her teeth against Adora’s neck, drags herself lower, stopping occasionally to bite into the tender expanse of flesh. As Catra explores, she’s rewarded with the most _wonderful_ sounds, subtle and encouraging and open and pleading. Catra reaches the line of Adora’s blouse, and pushes it aside hungrily to continue her journey. She bites down harder than before and sucks lightly, which prompts Adora to curse softly.

After Adora’s blouse refuses to be pushed aside without assistance, Catra pulls back and tugs gently on the cloth.

“Get rid of this.” Her voice is low, commanding.

“Yes ma’am,” Adora breathes, and pulls the blouse up and over her head faster than Catra’s ever seen.

“Good girl,” Catra growls, and greedily returns to her task. With no barrier between them, Catra’s hands roam hungrily over the plane of Adora’s core, creating new trails of fire even as her mouth continues to move lower.

She reaches Adora’s collarbone, and delights in the way Adora burns against her tongue. She surrenders Adora’s skin just enough to exhale, slow and hot, tickling breaths onto Adora’s chest.

“Fuck, Catra…”

There’s little in this world that Catra enjoys more than hearing her name on Adora’s lips. Catra knows how difficult it is for Adora to relinquish control like this; without the familiar comfort of being in charge, Adora is adrift, lost and in need of rescuing. Catra is all too happy to provide that rescue, gently but firmly guiding Adora, leading her where she wants to go.

Catra breaks the spell of her hot breath on Adora’s chest, and bites down possessively. Adora gives a little yelp and the muscles under Catra’s hand twitch.

Her progress is once again impeded, this time by Adora’s bra.

“Up.”

Adora responds to the order without hesitation, and Catra’s skilled hands reach around to unhook the bra in seconds. She slips it off of Adora and it’s tossed aside, forgotten. Catra’s mouth is back on Adora in a heartbeat, gnawing and sucking on the skin.

“Good… girl…” she breathes, her efforts ramping up in intensity. As Adora’s core begins to clench and release at the biting, Catra’s hands seem to have a mind of their own. One has forsaken Adora’s stomach in favor of cupping her breast greedily, capturing the nipple between two fingers and flicking, playing.

Adora’s moans only encourage Catra’s other hand, which digs trails into Adora’s stomach, nails leaving behind white stress marks. Her mouth continues to work, depositing beautiful bruises into Adora’s chest, branding her with Catra’s conquest.

Catra smirks to herself, knows that Adora must be close to a breaking point. Right on cue, Adora groans, “Catra… please…”

Catra pulls back for a moment, panting and allowing her mind to catch up to her racing heart. Seeing Adora so deliciously vulnerable is _doing_ things to her…

“You are awfully impatient, you know? You’ll get your fun, but I’m not finished yet.”

At Adora’s hitched breath and wide eyes, Catra flashes a grin and returns her nails to Adora’s skin, raking gorgeous lines into the toned muscle.

“Ho-- holy shit…” Adora gasps.

Catra grits her teeth in satisfaction.

“Yeah? Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

“Mmm-- mhmm,” mumbles Adora. “You-- are so mean, but this is-- is so good, _fuck…”_

Catra just lets out a laugh.

_This is perfect, goddamn._

Leaning over Adora, Catra puts some weight onto her hands, where they’re anchored to Adora’s core. She moves her entire body backward, shifting the weight with it and dragging her nails over Adora’s flesh, _hard._

“Ah, Catra… ah! Fuck!” Adora’s voice pitches up at the end, though not with pleasure. She sounds… 

She sounds like she’s in pain.

The haze over Catra’s mind disappears in an instant, and she glances down to where her fingers are connected to Adora’s skin. There’s angry trails dug into her flesh, and one of them is darker than the rest. Catra can almost taste a familiar coppery sting as the scent reaches her.

Catra rips her hands away, looking up at Adora in a panic.

“Fuck, Adora, are you okay? Was that too much?”

 _Fuck, I made her bleed,_ _no no no…_

Adora is gasping, looking down at the drops of blood pooling slightly on her stomach. She opens her mouth and closes it again, trying to say something.

“Catra, I--”

But Catra’s already swinging off of Adora, rushing to the bathroom as dread floods through her veins.

“I’m getting a towel! Hold on!” she calls. “Fuck, fuck…”

_I hurt her, I hurt Adora… all I’m good for is hurting, I knew this would happen..._

Adora’s voice is shrill when she shouts, “Wait, Catra! Hold on!”

Catra whips around, meets Adora’s eyes. There’s a confusion there, but no hurt to be found.

“Catra, wait, please.” Adora’s voice is desperate, breathy.

“Adora, you’re fucking _bleeding,_ let me just g--”

“Listen to me, Catra. It’s okay.”

Catra blinks. “I-- what?”

Adora nods down to her stomach. “Look at it. It’s just a few drops, I’m fine.”

Catra doesn’t understand. She stands in the doorway, dumbfounded.

_She can’t be fine, I hurt her..._

“But…” she trails off, and finally lets herself _look_ at Adora.

She’s propped up on both elbows, breathing steadily. The lines in her torso are red, and one of them _is_ bleeding, but just slightly. Barely. Adora doesn’t even look concerned now, her body is loose and relaxed. If anything, _Catra_ is the one who’s tense, freaking out. She looks down at her own hands, and they’re trembling. She sucks in a breath before looking back up at Adora.

“You’re… you’re really fine?”

A smile appears on Adora’s face, along with a ghost of a blush.

“Yes, baby! I’m okay! I want you to come back here, and…”

Catra cocks an eyebrow, truly lost.

“And… what?”

Adora’s blush becomes more obvious, standing out against her pale cheeks and bringing a wonderful glow to her features. When she speaks, her words are soft, small.

“I… want you to come back here and do it again. I like it.”

Catra lets her mouth hang open, taking in Adora’s sheepish look and her gentle, pleading eyes.

_Holy shit…_

The whiplash of seeing an eager Adora, begging to bleed even more, washes over Catra and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles in her throat. It bursts forth, manifesting the whirlwind cocktail of adrenaline and excitement that’s grabbed a hold of Catra in the last minute.

She cackles, throws her head back and feels the fear being expelled from her system. When she recovers, she meets Adora’s eyes, recognizes that pleading look, that need.

_She needs to be rescued._

Catra returns to the bed, slipping easily back into her position, straddling Adora once more.

_I’m in control here. It’s fine. This is for her._

“You like it?” Her voice is rough, uncertain. It’s a question for herself as much as Adora.

But the blonde just nods vigorously, her pupils blown wide once more.

“Yes… it hurt, but it was… fuck, it was really good, Catra. I can’t describe it, but it was _you,_ I mean, it’s okay if it’s you. I want more of that. And I want you to do it again.”

Catra’s gaze falls down to the wound, now up close again. Adora was right, it’s not bad at all. Catra recognizes her overreaction, and calms herself.

She takes in the heat that still emanates from Adora’s skin, the gorgeous glisten of sweat that coats her frame. She analyzes the way the beads of blood pool together in the ridges of Adora’s muscle; it’s almost handsome, the dark red fluid beautifully captivating. It’s a completely new experience for Catra, a fresh thought. Never before has blood seemed so approachable, so intimate, so…

_Safe._

At the urging of some sort of deep-rooted instinct, Catra stretches out a hand. She aims for Adora’s core, not entirely sure what her body is doing in place of her mind.

Delicately, her index finger dips down to meet the shallow rupture, softly caressing the slight pool of crimson.

Catra’s finger comes away, the tip coated just so in the warm, sticky liquid.

Adora draws in a shaky breath. She watches Catra’s every move with wide eyes.

Catra meets Adora’s gaze yet again, and stares through half-closed lids. Catra raises her hand, brings her finger up to her mouth.

Leisurely, she closes her lips around the stained finger, her eyes never leaving Adora’s. Her tongue moves forward curiously, and is met with an achingly salty taste. It’s at once familiar and shatteringly fresh, a wonderful sensation that flows through her and coats her in warmth.

Adora.

She’s tasting Adora, in a completely new way. She doesn’t even care that the metallic tang lingers in her mouth, because it’s _Adora…_

Catra lets her jaw go slack, her mouth gently falling open. Her finger follows the path of her bottom lip, trailing down, and eventually sliding out of her mouth completely with one last sting of bitter flavor. 

When Catra speaks, her voice is dark, guttural.

“What is it you want me to do? Tell me.”

“I…” Adora’s eyes are unfocused, and the flush of her cheeks is even more pronounced. “I want you to make me bleed.”

 _Can I hurt her like that on purpose?_ Catra wonders. Can she knowingly spill the very liquid that gives Adora life?

 _Yes,_ comes her response. _If this is what Adora wants, I can._

Only one word escapes Catra’s mouth, harsh and clear.

“Beg.”

Adora sits in stunned silence for a moment, her eyes threatening to flutter closed.

“P-please…”

Adora’s voice is low and gravelly, barely scraping out the words as the intensity in her eyes increases.

“Please, Catra. I _need_ you to hurt me more. Please, baby, just… Fuck, _please_ Catra…”

Catra entertains Adora’s whines, basking in her heartbreaking vulnerability.

Finally, she takes pity on Adora, and answers her wishes by placing her hands, fingers splayed, on Adora’s sides. They’re just to the right and left of the marks she’s already given, where the skin is unblemished and eagerly awaiting its branding.

“If this is too much… use your safeword.” Catra whispers.

Adora nods through her haze, communicating that she understands. She confirms it a moment later, and gasps, “I will.”

“Good.”

Catra lazily drags her nails over Adora’s flanks, and is rewarded with the most delightful little whimper she’s ever heard. The heat that’s been building inside of her all night suddenly makes itself known. Catra knows it’s about a thousand times worse for her partner... She smirks at the thought, and continues her teasing with renewed vigor.

She rakes her claws over Adora’s sides once more, this time eliciting a moan, loud and unafraid.

Encouraged, Catra tries for a third time, adding the pressure and the weight she knows will make Adora squirm, will make her...

This attempt leaves Adora yelling expletives, even as Catra can see a lurid bloom of crimson erupt from one of the deeper grooves.

“Fuck… Catra, ah! Ah! Yes!”

Catra grins with delight, a strange mix of emotions washing over her.

She’s hurting Adora, _willingly,_ and it’s... good. It’s exactly what Adora wants. And it’s exactly what Catra wants, too.

“That’s it princess… you’re doing so well.” Catra growls her support to Adora, soaking in the swearing she receives in response. “Are you bleeding for me?”

“Yes!” Adora gasps. “Fuck, Catra…”

Catra digs her nails into Adora one last time, for emphasis.

“Hmm, yeah. You’re so good for me…” Catra purrs.

She leans down and presses a slow kiss to Adora’s lips. It’s gentle and caring, and Catra hopes with all her heart that Adora understands what this means.

After what feels like a lifetime, they break apart, and Catra surveys her handiwork. Three of the shallow scores she’s made are now glistening with blood, the barest pinprick of scarlet drops forming in the fissures.

Adora is elated, her face alight with pleasure and ecstasy. She pants greedily, catching her breath.

“Hmm, I love hearing those sounds…” Catra mumbles.

Adora just chuckles and grins, looking up at Catra with reverence.

“I can make more of them, if you want.”

Catra smirks down at Adora, and says lightly, “Oh, you’re going to. Trust me.”

She slips off of Adora, and offers her hand.

“But first, I’m gonna call this here. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Alright.”

Adora takes her hand, and together they roll off of the bed. 

As they make their way to the bathroom, Adora pulls her hand away, and grabs at her torso, stopping the small trails of blood that threaten to trickle down onto her still-clothed lower half.

“Shit…” she mutters.

Catra steps into the bathroom, and reaches immediately for an old towel folded up under the sink.

“Here, let me.”

Adora drops her hands and stands awkwardly, while Catra wipes away the blood. The wounds seem to have sealed themselves almost immediately, and the trickle becomes non-existent after the initial layer of half-dried blood is cleaned away.

“There’s probably a right way to do this, you know,” Catra remarks. “We’ll do some research. Would you like that, babe?”

“Um, yes… I w- I would like that _very_ much.”

Catra chuckles, and reaches for some soap.

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.”

Catra works swiftly, her trained hands making quick work of the minor cuts. Once the wounds are sanitary, she grabs a small tube of ointment from her cupboard.

“This antibiotic might sting a bit.” she warns.

Adora just smiles, and doesn’t so much as wince when it’s applied. Catra tops off the injuries with some small strips of gauze, tearing them to size and holding them in place with medical tape.

“You’re good at this,” Adora says. “Had much practice?” she teases.

Catra stops her busy hands, meets Adora’s eyes.

“Yeah, I have.” she says honestly.

Adora doesn’t comment on that, just holds their eye contact.

“That was big for you, wasn’t it? Hurting me like that.”

Catra doesn’t respond for a moment, just looks into Adora’s blue-gray eyes.

“Of course it was. I wanna keep you safe, dummy.”

She finishes her work, putting the final piece of gauze in place, giving it a harder-than-necessary slap to indicate that it’s finished.

“See? Good as new. I take care of you.”

Adora grins. “Yes you do, baby. Thank you.”

Catra grins right back, and just says, “Well, don’t thank me yet. I have to wash up, why don’t you drink some water? Then you can get the strap-on.”

Adora’s eyes go wide once more, as she seems to realize that Catra is still very much in charge.

“Oh, uh, y-- definitely. Yes. I can go do that. Absolutely.”

She turns enthusiastically, only making it one step before Catra shoots out her hand, hooking her fingers into the waistline of Adora’s pants and stopping her in place.

Catra’s other hand makes contact with Adora’s bare shoulder, roughly turning her right back around.

“While you’re there, you might wanna take out your ponytail. I’ll need something to grab onto.”

* * *

It’s much, much later when they both fall back onto the pillows in rapture, completely drained of all energy.

Catra climbs up next to her partner, and tucks herself comfortably into place. Her head rests just below Adora’s chin, and their limbs are a tangled, sweaty mess.

“You did so good for me, baby,” Catra whispers. “So, so good.”

Adora lets out a small chuckle.

“Are you calling me baby now too?”

“I mean. If you’re cool with that.”

Adora pulls back, just enough to look Catra in the eyes.

“I am.”

She kisses Catra’s forehead, slow and gentle. Catra lets out a contented hum, her eyes slipping closed; she melts completely into Adora.

It’s odd, having grown this close to Adora. Catra reflects that really, it would take so little for Adora to discover her. It would be so simple for Adora to stumble upon the secure vault in her garage, built into the wall behind the breaker box. It would be the easiest thing in the world for her to find every piece of contraband she owns, every gun and knife and wig.

It’s as though she’s up in space, with mere millimeters of metal between her and the freezing nothing of the vacuum. Catra used to be scared of that feeling. The weightlessness of uncertainty, the idea that at any moment, her neighbor might break in and kill her where she stands.

Of course, they’re so much more than neighbors now, and the possibility of Adora finding anything is non-existent. Her gear is too well hidden, her secrets buried too deep. But her secrets no longer saddle her with guilt. That twinge that was once so familiar is now a distant memory.

Catra finds that one by one, she’s letting her walls down. Her hesitations about truly being with Adora are no more. When this all began, there were so many barriers. So many lies. But Catra has been working overtime to dismantle them, and to do it safely. Otherwise…

Catra almost shudders. She doesn’t want to think about _otherwise._ But she’s been successful so far, in her quest to be honest with Adora. Their almost-argument had allowed Catra to completely open up, to stop lying to herself about her work. She knows now that she can’t live without Adora. She understands that there’s nothing in this world more important than Adora.

Their newfound connection and total honesty has given Catra hope. Hope she desperately needs, because there’s only one barrier left. One more lie.

And it’s the biggest of them all.

Catra is aware that there’s a right way to go about this. There has to be. Elaborate schemes to be made, plans to run away together and forget everything else. Some way for this information to come out, that allows them to stay together, to never be apart. It’s been on her mind, and she knows she needs to do it soon. Her deception isn’t sustainable, and even if it is… she doesn’t want it to be. She needs so badly for Adora to just… know. For all of it be out in the open. No more lies. Adora deserves that. The woman she loves deserves to know the truth. And she will. Soon.

But Catra’s getting tired.

For all her recovery over the past two weeks, for all her genuine happiness and bliss, she’s still burdened by a relentless fatigue. Fatigue that runs bone-deep, the poison that comes from maintaining her illusion. Catra knows it’s been there for so, so long. Years. Her whole life, maybe.

But as she lays here, safe in Adora’s arms, she knows that she could be rid of it. That there’s a way to cure her ache, to finally find peace.

All it would take is a few simple words.

Whispered, private words, here in the dark, for only Adora’s ears.

She might even be able to admit, finally, out loud, that she loves Adora. Say those three words along with the others, and come clean about… everything.

The notion is intriguing.

Intoxicating.

Alluring.

It grabs a hold of her, and doesn’t let go.

Adora is right here.

She could open her mouth right now, and just...

“Hey, Adora.”

* * *

**_Adora_ **

“Yeah?” Adora responds.

Catra’s looking at her with a quiet intensity. She stares thoughtfully for a moment, as though gathering up the courage to say something.

Catra breaks her pensive silence with one lingering word.

“I…”

She trails off, her thought left incomplete.

Adora raises an eyebrow, shooting Catra a quizzical look.

“Yeah? What were you gonna say?”

Catra just blinks, and then buries her head in Adora’s chest once more. When she responds, her words are muffled.

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

Adora snorts, and says “Okay, well you definitely can’t just say that and then _not_ tell me what you were going to say. I mean, c’mon!”

Adora can hear the smile in Catra’s voice as she says, “Ugh, Adora… seriously, it was nothing.”

“Hmm, whatever you say baby. Just be sure to tell me _someday,_ yeah?”

Catra pulls back for a second time, though her expression is significantly different. She’s gazing at Adora with an open tenderness, a look so distinct that Adora could never forget it. It’s the same look that Catra gave her the first night they ever spent together, a look filled with love and care. It’s the same look Adora has bottled up and stored inside of her, every chance she gets.

Catra’s words are sincere and resolute when she replies, “I will.”

Adora thinks Catra’s almost acting strange. Almost. She knows that the blood play earlier in the night was a little… intense. Definitely more so than Catra’s letting on, but Adora won’t press her. Catra will tell her about it, in her own time. She always does.

So when Adora sees that treasured look again, she has her suspicions about what Catra was going to say. The three words that Adora has been meaning to say herself. She will, when the time is right.

Instead, the intimacy of their evening and their current situation has left her head spinning.

Adora’s not used to turning over control like that, but Catra always manages to make it work out. The way that she guides Adora so gently and yet so firmly, ever present and a constant reminder that she won’t let Adora fall. That everything is okay.

And the blood, wow…

Never before has Adora felt like that. Pain play isn’t exactly anything new between them. Adora’s had marks on her back several times from some of their rougher moments, as has her girlfriend. But for Catra to oblige her like that, to actually break the skin, to spill blood, purposefully…

The two of them have never had an opportunity to exercise trust quite like that, but she’s so glad they were able to tonight. It was an incredible experience, and one Adora is looking forward to replicating with more practice and in a safer environment.

A comfortable calm has fallen between the two of them once more. Adora studies the rise and fall of Catra’s frame, memorizing the way her muscles shift, the way her skin catches what little light there is in their room. She runs her fingers leisurely along Catra’s side, down to her hip.

In the absence of Catra’s… confession? Anecdote? Insult? Adora’s really not sure what Catra was going to say, just has her own private hope. Regardless, Adora feels drawn to the idea of filling in the conversational gap with a confession of her own.

It’s been brewing in her mind for months now, a confusing swirl of… something. Despite her best efforts, she’s not entirely sure what it is. A feeling that’s always there. A glow, maybe, that sometimes gets brighter, sometimes dimmer, depending on… she couldn’t rightfully say. Earlier tonight, she and Catra had switched roles; while Adora was wearing the strap-on, that glow was certainly shining brightly. Half-formed thoughts of cutting her hair mingle with heady ideas about her body, how she feels in a suit.

Adora’s surprised to find she’s never thought to simply tell all of this to Catra. Whether or not Catra will understand isn’t important. She certainly won’t judge Adora, and she’s willing to listen to anything. That much Adora is sure of.

With all of this in mind, Adora finds words already on her tongue, waiting to be said. She never could be patient, could she?

Her heart starts to pick up its pace as she takes a deep breath.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hmm?” Catra hums in reply.

“You know how… how you call me princess?” Adora asks tentatively.

Catra’s reply vibrates through Adora’s chest as she says, “Yeah, of course.”

Adora takes another breath, steadies herself.

“Well, sometimes… sometimes I feel more like a prince.”

With the words out of her mouth, Adora can’t help but feel as though she’s just made a huge confession, or perhaps a breakthrough.

_Please don’t ask me what that means, because I don’t know…_

Catra remains silent for a few moments, apparently absorbing Adora’s strange statement.

Eventually, one word rumbles from her throat and through Adora’s body.

“Okay.”

Adora gets the feeling Catra has something more to say, and waits with bated breath.

After a few more seconds of silence, Catra asks, “Do you… do you want me to call you that, sometimes?”

Adora lets out the breath she’s been holding.

“I mean… if you would do that. For me. It’s kind of… I don’t know, kind of weird?”

Catra tightens her embrace and shakes her head against Adora’s chest.

“I don’t think it’s weird. Not if that’s how you feel.”

The words pierce through her, and her heart soars.

“Really? You’re just… fine with that?”

Catra extracts herself from Adora once more, and meets her eyes.

“Of course I am, dummy. Do you… feel that way all the time? Like is it more than just a nickname?”

_I don’t know, I don’t know!_

“I… I don’t know, honestly. For a long time now, I’ve just felt… different. Not always super attached to the idea of being a girl, I guess. I have no idea what that means, or if it makes any sense. I mean, I am a girl, that’s just… that’s stupid, it doesn’t ma--”

“Hey, hey…”

Catra places a hand on Adora’s cheek, rubs it softly with her thumb.

“It’s okay, babe. You’re making enough sense for me. I’ve noticed that sometimes you use different words for yourself. I mean, enough to where it made me wonder about something like this.” Catra says. “Do you… want me to start using different words too?”

Adora feels an enormous weight lifted off her shoulders. She isn’t sure what to say, and instead she finds herself crying. The tears come out of nowhere, suddenly the only thing she knows to do.

“You-- I-- I don’t, even kno--”

Without a single word, Catra wraps her in a hug, warm and safe.

“Hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you…” she repeats, one hand kneading a soothing pattern into Adora’s hair, the other clenched tightly around Adora.

Adora doesn’t know what else to do, isn’t sure where her tears are even coming from. She isn’t sad, is she? Is this sad? Is it happy? No, it’s not either of those…

Instead, Adora finds that she’s simply relieved. Catra has somehow managed to voice Adora’s own thoughts, giving life to the frustrating, malleable mess of ideas in her head.

“How do… how do you know ab-about different words?” Adora chokes, barely coherent even to her ears.

Catra gives a chuckle, holds Adora even tighter.

“I know someone who uh.. who uses different words, for themselves. Someone through. Um, someone through work, actually. And I’ve met people, before, who feel different, like you. You’re not on your own, you know? Just like you and I aren’t. We have Glimmer and Bow, right? I guarantee they’ll understand, like me.”

The words wash over Adora like an overwhelming flood, and she chokes out another sob, smaller this time. She still isn’t sad, but this is just… new. Scary.

_I’m not on my own._

A warmth flows through her, and somehow Adora knows that her glow is shining brightly, somewhere inside her. She finds that makes her happy. Makes her feel safe.

“You are so, so good to me, Catra.”

Catra laughs, a clear, high-pitched noise that cuts right through to Adora’s heart.

“I’m not doing anything, Adora! I’m just… being here, existing!”

Adora holds on even tighter to the woman she loves.

“I know. But that’s enough.”

They remain locked in their embrace for what seems like a lifetime, until Adora’s tears dry and her breathing has evened out.

Catra gives a contented little sigh, and says, “Your heart rate’s back to normal.”

It’s Adora’s turn to chuckle, as she says, “What, you can hear that?”

Catra grins, and says, “Yeah, I can.” She lays a hand over Adora’s heart, her fingers just tickling Adora’s bare skin.

Adora stares into Catra’s gorgeous, mismatched eyes. She’s never been able to decide which she likes best, though she thinks it might be the amber one. She’s never seen that color on anyone else.

Adora takes a breath, ready to try voicing the complicated rush of emotion the last few minutes have brought on her.

“So… um. I’m not really sure what to do from here. I don’t know anything about this, all I know is how I feel inside. And even that is… not exactly easy to track, to be totally honest. So this might take – no, I _know_ – it’ll take a lot of learning. Will you… help me with that?”

Catra immediately begins to nod.

“Absolutely, Adora. Whatever you want, I’ll back you up. We can… we can figure out words you like, or don’t like? Things you want to hear, and you can tell me everything you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it, okay?”

“That sounds so fucking good,” Adora breathes. “Thank you baby. I need this. Thank you…”

Catra gives a small smirk.

“Anything for my prince.”

Adora almost feels like the wind is knocked out of her. Hearing that pet name out of Catra’s mouth is everything she’s ever needed.

_Holy shit._

_I’m gonna need to hear that a whole lot more._

* * *

It’s a few weeks later, early September, and summer is beginning to wind down. It’s a beautifully mild morning, a slight breeze rolling through the neighborhood, bringing with it the promise of crisp fall winds soon to follow.

Adora loves these days, when the heat dies down and the sky is clear. It’s absolutely perfect conditions for running, and she managed to knock out eight miles this morning before collapsing in a heap just outside her house. After getting ready for her day, she finds herself in the bedroom, shaking Catra awake.

“Hey, baby. I gotta get going. Are you ever gonna get up?”

Catra groans playfully, grabbing for a pillow and throwing it half-heartedly in Adora’s direction.

“I _am_ up, silly. I’m just resting my eyes.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Adora purrs, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. She pulls back the covers teasingly, and Catra instantly curls into herself.

“Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” she growls.

“Oh, c’mon Catra. Stop being such a drama queen. C’mere, I wanna kiss you goodbye.”

“Could have just let me sleep,” Catra grumbles. But there’s a smile on her face as she slips closer, allowing herself to be engulfed in Adora’s arms.

Adora savors every morning she has with Catra. She makes it a point to wake Catra before going to work; a chance to see her properly, if she isn’t already up and about. Adora finds it’s a wonderful start to her days, helps her slog through her increasingly frustrating work with relative ease.

She’s starting to get lost in their embrace, letting her eyes slide shut as she soaks up Catra’s warmth.

She’s shaken out of her daze when Catra says, “You’re gonna be late, dummy.”

“Hmm, I don’t care,” comes Adora’s response. “This is worth it.”

Catra pulls back, grinning.

“Seriously, get out of here! I can’t stand looking at your handsome face anymore.”

Adora’s heart does a little flip.

“Wait,” she says, eyes widening. “You think I’m handsome?”

Catra rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, obviously. Go to work, idiot.”

A swooping, giddy feeling overtakes her.

_Catra thinks I’m handsome._

* * *

Adora’s blissful, dream-like relationship with Catra has thrown the less-than-stellar circumstances of her job into sharp relief. While she’s at work, the only thing she can really focus on is Catra.

Catra, who is wonderful to her in every way.

Catra, who loves her.

Catra, who is… gay.

So much more than just the simple failed dates of her past, the long-term arrangement she has with Catra is making it harder and harder to ignore the fact that being gay is something the Bureau does not tolerate. This sort of renewed adversarial dynamic with her employer also makes it difficult to gloss over the FBI’s other… shortcomings.

As Adora has grown up on the job, she’s always made sure to shed her old beliefs, and to have her values reflected in the work she does. Early on in her career, she and her friends had worked bank robbery cases. It didn’t take long for Adora to understand that robbery wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and that the cops they frequently had to work with were not exactly the salt of the Earth. Glimmer and Bow had agreed, and so their little makeshift unit had moved instead to the fraud division.

Something a step up from relatively petty crime meant that Adora had found it more meaningful… for a time. It wasn’t long before she ran into the same problem though, and working fraud cases ended up exposing the flaws in the system even more.

And so the cycle continued, on and on and on, until now. Here they are, at the top of the heap. Counterintelligence. Adora figures a job of this importance must be meaningful in a bigger kind of way. But the more she pays attention to the job around her, the less she feels comfortable supporting the organization itself.

She spends her days attempting to track down enemies of the United States, people she can’t quite bring herself to hate. All the while, she does it for people who assuredly hate _her._

Her spy work might be couched in surveillance and busywork and constant talk of nuclear destruction, but she knows better. This is just the robbery unit, on a much larger scale. Adora’s not a child anymore, and she’s not sure how much longer she can go on pretending to care about her work.

It’s exhausting.

When Adora stalks into work that day, Catra is fresh on her mind, freckles splashed across her face, her teasing words confirming that she finds Adora attractive, no matter what.

_I really am so lucky._

The pleasant memory disappears as she trundles into the secure room, where Glimmer and Bow are waiting for her.

“Hey guys,” she calls in greeting.

“Adora, hey!” Bow greets back. “Doing okay today?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

Glimmer pipes up from her chair, “So, bad?”

Adora frowns. “What do you mean? I’m doing good.”

Glimmer snorts, and wheels closer.

“No, you were doing good _before_ you came into work. Probably got to wake up next to your hot girlfriend, get in an obnoxiously long run, all that good stuff. But when you’re _here,_ you’re miserable. What’s up?”

Adora looks to Bow, and grins nervously.

“Bow what is uh. What is going on.”

Bow rubs the back of his neck, mirroring Adora’s nervous expression.

“Well, Glimmer and I have just been… a little worried lately. About you. It seems like you’re not doing so hot on the job, and we just wanted to know if there was anything we could do. It’s like a friend intervention!”

Adora cocks an eyebrow. “A friend intervention?”

Glimmer claps her hands, her face lighting up. “That’s right! We noticed your declining mood, and we are here to set things right! What do you need, Adora?”

Adora scoffs, and falls into one of the many chairs.

“I mean, honestly? Probably a vacation. Or like, something more permanent, maybe…” she mutters.

Bow speaks up, voice filled with concern.

“More permanent? Are you… are you talking about quitting?”

Adora heaves a sigh. She really didn’t want to get into her shifting thoughts about the job, and especially _not_ first thing in the morning. Naturally, that’s what’s about to happen.

“No… maybe, I don’t know. I think I’m just tired, is all.”

“Preeeetty sure it’s more than that, Adora,” Glimmer drawls. “C’mon, you can tell us.”

If these were any other agents, Adora would refuse to open up like this. But these are her best friends in the entire world. They’ve made every jump right alongside her, and they have good hearts. If she can’t tell them, who can she tell?

She takes a breath, and steels herself.

“Do you think we’re the good guys?”

Neither Glimmer nor Bow responds for a moment, and they wear matching confused expressions on their faces. After a few seconds, they turn to each other for one of those silent conversations they’re always having.

“Adora…” Bow begins. “We all have our own thoughts. You know that.”

“Yeah, and I know you don’t always think that we are, Bow. So what I wanna know is, why are we still doing this?”

Glimmer leans forward in her chair, a look of concern in her eyes. 

“Adora, this is our job. This is what we do.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t have to be!” Adora can hear her voice rising in pitch and volume, but she doesn’t care.

Glimmer furrows her brow, reaches out a hand toward Adora’s.

“We only asked you about this because we think you’re unhappy, Adora...”

“I _am_ happy though, Glimmer! I’m happy for the first time in my life, outside of work. Away from work. And I guess it’s just making me realize how… fragile, this all is. How can I keep supporting this country when they’ll gladly let me die, just for being happy? For being gay? They'll do the same for you two. I just… I’m tired of that. I told you both a long time ago about how I always wanted my work to be something I believe in. And I’m not sure this is what I believe in, anymore. The three of us have always stuck together, through moves like this. Even when they were hard, or when it felt like we’d be different people by the end of it.”

She pauses to take in a shaky breath. These words have been waiting in her mind for far too long. She’s thankful to Catra for indirectly granting her the courage to say them now. She forges ahead, looking back and forth between Bow and Glimmer.

“I’m not saying we should quit today, or anything like that. But I am asking you guys to just… to think about this. We’ve been at this our whole lives. We’ve never had a chance to know anything else. But I want to. I want to know something else, and I want to do it with both of you by my side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) birthday, Adora!! Hope you all enjoyed some sub Adora to (late) celebrate. Keep an eye out for a deleted scene of this fic that may be coming soon as its own spicy little story...
> 
> (Also, does anyone remember when I said that expanding the chapter count would mean I wouldn't have to write 10k word chapters? Oops.)
> 
> Really hoping the kink came across and/or made sense. Let me know what you thought, about that and eeeverything else. So much to unpack! As always, comments are what keep me going, and I love hearing everyone's thoughts and feedback!
> 
> P.S. there's a Spotify playlist for this fic, which you can again find right [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Kf6QRsK3BQWfjRXbjzfgN?si=b0yASr-zTnqXnbX0vmBAHQ) I highly recommend giving a listen to "Ithaca" by Tara Terra in particular... 👀


	14. where it breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimmer digs in. Catra goes for a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But this would be heartache if I could just see it  
> This would be too much to take  
> I could see the cracks in the floor if I weren't sitting  
> Right on the part where it breaks
> 
> _"Ithaca" - Tara Terra ___  
> 

**_Glimmer_ **

Glimmer wakes up in a good mood. It’s Saturday, and that means she’s finally had a chance to sleep in, thank _god._ She rolls over to check the clock, and it’s 11:04.

_Nine hours, not bad._

She flips the covers off of her, pleased to see that sunlight is streaming in through the window. Now that fall is almost here, it’s brought with it the occasional rainfall, making weekend plans slightly more dreary than usual. But today, the sun is shining bright and Glimmer’s weekend is set to be quite enjoyable.

Just then, Bow pushes open the door to their room and heads inside, carrying two cups of coffee.

“Hey you! Sure slept in today, huh?”

Glimmer smiles up at him, and takes the offered cup eagerly.

“Yeah, first time in a while! I think I really needed it. Thanks for letting me rest, babe.”

Bow sits on the edge of the bed and beams.

“No problem!”

He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead, and Glimmer sighs contentedly. Forehead kisses from Bow are her absolute favorite.

She takes a sip of coffee, and then stares absently at a patch of sunlight hitting the duvet.

“So,” she begins. “What should we do today before we meet with them?”

Bow smiles again, different than before. It’s a subtle shift, but Glimmer notices. When he speaks, his voice is slightly strained.

“Well… I was thinking we could have a chat.”

_Uh oh._

She knows exactly what he wants to chat about. Glimmer doesn’t even bother hiding her annoyance, and she gives an exaggerated groan.

“Uggghh, _Bow!_ I told you I’d think about it, it’s only been a week!”

Bow softens his smile, until the look on his face is knowing and piercing all at once.

“I know, I know,” he relents. “I just thought, since we’re seeing them tonight…”

All week long, Bow has been on her case about this new idea of his. About telling Adora what they’ve been up to, telling Adora that they suspect Catra of KGB involvement. Bow’s been insistent, bringing it up constantly ever since that day.

Ever since Adora asked that question.

 _“Do you think we’re the good guys?”_ she had asked.

Glimmer doesn’t rightfully have an answer, but she isn’t all that concerned at present. Her attention is instead consumed by a much more pressing matter, which is the potential infiltration of her best friend’s life by a spy. A _dangerous_ spy, at that.

Should they tell Adora? Probably.

Will they? Of course.

Eventually.

First, they need hard proof. Their request for surveillance of a civilian hadn’t been cleared until mid-August, which is much later than Glimmer would have liked. They’ve only had a little less than a month to monitor her, and in that time, they’ve gotten absolutely nothing. But much like Adora’s ongoing surveillance of Konstantin Burov, they just need more time. More time before their target inevitably gives themselves away.

Still, Glimmer hopes every day that their investigation turns up nothing at all; she’s grown fond of Catra. And besides, they’re meeting up with Adora and Catra later tonight for dinner, as per their tradition. A tradition that’s become quite enjoyable, as it turns out.

And so, knowing this, Bow has once again asked Glimmer to consider telling Adora what they’ve been up to. Her answer is firm, like it has been every other time.

“Ask me again next week. I don’t wanna ruin tonight!”

Bow, ever gracious and kind, just continues to smile, and says, “Okay.” He leans in for another kiss, but before his lips brush against her forehead, he whispers, “You’re not off the hook though. I’m asking again next week whether you actually wanted me to or not.” And then he closes the distance between them, soft and gentle. He pulls back, and there’s no change in his eyes. He might as well have said nothing at all. Glimmer almost shudders.

_That man can be scary when he needs to be, holy hell._

* * *

Eight hours later, and all four of them are out to dinner. Catra and Adora have scooted their chairs closer together, as usual, and Bow is teasing them good-naturedly about it.

Glimmer isn’t participating; her mind is occupied with… other thoughts. She looks at Catra, or rather, _through_ Catra, and simply stares, attempting to pin down the other woman with her gaze.

Catra is a mystery. She is at once a creature so full of emotion: rarely is there a time when Catra is not blushing, frowning, laughing, growling, whispering, smirking, teasing. As lively as they come, Catra. Her beautiful, silken brown hair spills down over one shoulder, bouncy and vibrant. With her playful freckles splashed across her flushed face and a shine in her mismatched eyes, Glimmer thinks Catra’s never looked happier, or more alive.

And yet...

She is unreadable. For all of her emotions, for all of her happiness, visible and visceral and audible and plain for the world to see, Glimmer can’t shake the feeling that Catra is holding something back. A softer side, perhaps. One that Adora alone is privy to. But no, Bow has spoken on occasion of Catra’s quieter moments. Moments that Glimmer hasn’t been allowed to know, as it seems.

Glimmer almost frowns. She would like to know that side of Catra… wouldn’t she? It might signify something deeper, a connection beyond simply friendship. Something more like best friends, like family. The four of them have grown quite close in such a short amount of time, and it’s been effortless to fold Catra into their established dynamic. No mean feat, as the years between the three friends are numerous. But Catra has succeeded, integrating herself without feeling monopolizing of Adora. She seems eager to share their bond, eager to find camaraderie and solidarity with friends who embrace them, celebrate them. Glimmer has been happy to provide that, especially for Adora. Adora, who has needed that encouragement and solidarity for years.

All told, Glimmer likes Catra a great deal. She’s easy to get along with, if a bit prickly at first rub. She’s funny and smart, and can carry a conversation smoothly and easily. She’s fun to be around, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper at the drop of a hat to gossip about a rude patron, or swearing loudly and glancing around in faux fear before breaking into a dangerous grin. And most importantly, she makes Adora happy. It’s obvious from every look they share, from the way Adora is so eager to get home after work. From the way they lean into each other and exchange unheard words, silent secrets in the midst of everything else, their own little world. Catra is wonderful, in every way.

So the question Glimmer finds herself asking is…

Why?

Why is she so intent on inventing this fiction of spies and evil and violence, so intent on sabotaging not just Adora, but their entire group? Their entire family?

As she sits here watching Catra laugh alongside Bow and Adora, why is Glimmer so _torn?_

Lately, she’s felt as though she’s living a double life of her own, and neither one a complete lie. Her fondness for Catra is genuine, as is her unshakeable hunch: that Catra is a dangerous woman hiding a dangerous secret.

Glimmer heaves a sigh, hoping it goes undetected. She should focus on getting through this weekend, and then she can deal with everything she’s been procrastinating. Bow’s insistence that Adora be made aware of their work. Adora’s lingering prompt, a plea to leave behind their life of service. Her all-consuming suspicion of Catra. Everything will be dealt with properly, in due time.

“... can’t tease us about putting our chairs together when you do the same thing with Glimmer! That’s not fair!” Catra is saying, her mouth quirked into a grin. “I mean, we may as well be getting booths, why do we keep insisting on tables?”

Adora puts her index finger and her thumb to her chin in a contemplative gesture, and says, “You know, you’re right. I always forget about booths.”

“I agree with Catra,” Bow chimes in. “Booths reign supreme!”

Glimmer finally catches up to the conversation, and finds herself with input of her own.

“Oh yeah, booths are much comfier. Besides, they’re better for playing footsie!” Glimmer punctuates her words with a little wink to Catra, who just rolls her eyes and growls, “In your dreams, sparkles.”

Glimmer can’t help a smile from crawling over her features, as she sinks back into the familiar banter between the four of them. The Best Friends Squad, as Bow has so aptly taken to naming them (out of earshot of Catra, of course).

“Glimmer, are you hitting on my girlfriend?” Adora asks, a fake-dangerous edge to her voice and a smile barely held at bay.

“What?” Glimmer protests. “I’m just being _friendly,_ is all.”

Bow raises an eyebrow, and asks, “So, are you two fine with labels now? No more, uh…” he trails off, and Catra blushes out of embarrassment.

“We uh, we had a talk, and decided, you know--”

“We’re dating!” Adora exclaims proudly. “I mean, I know we already were, but we really talked it through. Worked out our boundaries and what we’re comfortable with. Like, a while ago, actually. And it’s been good. Right Catra?”

Adora looks to her partner for confirmation, and receives it immediately, as Catra recovers from her stuttering and says confidently, “Yeah. It’s been _really_ good.”

“Aww!” Bow cries, putting a hand over his heart. “That is the cutest thing ever.”

Catra cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t object. Glimmer feels a wave of love and support for her friends, and voices it a moment later.

“Seriously, you guys are adorable. You know we’re so happy for you, right?”

Adora shoots Glimmer a grateful smile, and her eyes are full of thanks. To Glimmer’s surprise, Catra gives a similar look. It’s a small smile, one that reaches her eyes and betrays a softness, an openness…

“Thanks, Glimmer.”

Catra speaks directly to her, piercing Glimmer’s heart with a shock of sincerity.

Glimmer’s mind flashes forebodingly to the week ahead of her. Overwhelming guilt seeps into her bones, the reality of her work a stark contrast to the trust Catra’s giving her, right now.

Glimmer prays it doesn’t show on her face.

_This is going to kill me._

* * *

Monday.

September 15th.

Judgement day.

Or, at least, for Glimmer.

She’s managed to make it to lunch break, as she always does. The first half of the day is typically busy with Adora-centric work, which right now takes the form of Konstantin Burov’s ongoing surveillance. Adora keeps at it, though with a much more reserved attitude than before; it’s clear that her heart isn’t in it. They occasionally take breaks, attempting to piece together more of the mystery surrounding the Sketch Lady, as Glimmer has decided to call her. Over the months, she’s been reduced to a taunting, burning stare and a blank face that _could_ conceivably be Catra. Maybe. It’s impossible to tell, which is the predicament, Glimmer supposes.

Predictably, little progress has been made on the identity of the Sketch Lady, and their efforts are largely abandoned by the time lunch rolls around.

And so now here she is, lazing in the secure room and shirking mealtime, like usual.

Also like usual, Bow returns early, sans Adora, and they both settle in for a while to talk. He sets down half a sandwich, and drops himself into a nearby chair.

“We really need to tell her.”

Glimmer looks up, and gives a half smile.

“What, that we’re dating?” she tries, a weak attempt to escape the mounting guilt that she’s beginning to drown in.

Bow just fixes her with _that_ look, and says sternly, “Glimmer, you know what I’m talking about.”

She heaves a sigh. Yes. She _does,_ and that’s a problem.

“Okay, okay. Worth a shot. I told you, I’ve been thinking about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too. And honestly, I agree with her. I don’t think this job is what we should be doing.”

Glimmer narrows her eyes.

“Wait, you agree with her?”

Bow furrows his brow, leans forward.

“Well, yeah. Don’t you?”

Glimmer finds she still doesn’t have an answer. Especially not right now, when their work is so much different. So much more… personal. She spends a moment stringing together her thoughts before replying.

“I mean… okay, look. I get what she’s saying, right? Like, America sucks. We all know that. Lots of bullshit, patriotism is bad, we’re _insanely_ racist, I get it. I live it. I understand all of that, and you know I do.”

Glimmer looks to Bow for confirmation, taking a steadying breath before diving back in. He nods slowly, and she continues.

“But this is… I mean, this job right now, isn’t it valuable? I think Adora is half-right, half-wrong. We always followed her lead before, and I agreed about all the moves we’ve made. I mean, I don’t wanna work with a bunch of beat cops to catch people who mostly just need help, so that’s why we moved on. But we’re here now, and I just…”

Glimmer trails off. Adora has the right idea, of course she does. Heart of gold, that one. But the missing piece here, the thing that’s _really_ giving Glimmer pause, is what Adora doesn’t know.

Doesn’t suspect.

“You just what?” Bow prods. “If you agree, then what’s holding you back?”

“Catra!” Glimmer bursts. “It’s Catra, okay? I can’t get her out of my head, I know what I heard. I know that voice, I know the way she… exists, I guess? I know she was all covered up that night, but I swear to god, Bow… I swear this is driving me crazy. It’s her, it _has_ to be!”

The words are spilling out of her, and her voice is getting higher-pitched by the second.

“I told you before, but I _need_ to know if it was her that night.” She suddenly finds her voice catching in her throat, where there’s a lump forming. Her eyes begin to sting. “Bow… I need to know if our friend almost killed us.”

A conflicted look passes over Bow’s face. He agrees with that sentiment in general, she knows. But this business with Adora seems to have changed his mind on the majority of their work. Instead of bothering with any of that, like Glimmer is expecting, he catches her off guard with a simple question.

“Do you remember that night?”

“I-- of course I do, Bow. I just s--”

“Do you remember what you said?”

Glimmer frowns, unsure of where this is going. She feels an unpleasant tugging in her gut, the burning sensation of guilt crawling across her skin even as she racks her brain for answers.

_What does he mean?_

“I said a lot of things, it was a stressful ni--”

 _“I don’t want to fight you._ That’s what you said, to the Illegal. To the Russian.”

Glimmer’s own words wash over her, and the tingling on her skin only increases.

“What do you… what are you saying, Bow?”

Bow pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply before proceeding.

_That’s never a good sign._

“What do you think is going to happen, if we catch her?”

_Oh._

Bow puts an even finer point on it, and says in a harsher voice, “If it’s Catra, what happens to her?”

Glimmer falters. A far away part of her recognizes Bow’s uncanny ability to make her think critically, appreciates the way he’s always there to keep her grounded in reality. But right now, she doesn’t need to be grounded. She needs answers.

“I don’t know, Bow. But, Catra’s… I mean, she’s reasonable. She would talk, right? We can offer her immunity. Yeah, that’s... We give her a reason to stay safe and to stay alive. Of course I don’t want to hurt her, Bow.”

But Bow just shakes his head.

“But she’d be in jail, Glimmer. Even if they let her live, she wouldn’t be with us, with Adora. She would be alone and miserable for the rest of her life. She’s a good person, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Glimmer finds herself standing, and is grateful for the soundproofed room as she raises her voice.

“You don’t think I know that?! I love her, Bow. I love her like family, already. We’re a family now, okay? But that doesn’t change what I know. You asked what happens, well… what happens if it’s true? What happens if she hurts Adora? She had a fucking _gun,_ Bow. What if she…”

Glimmer cuts herself off, unable to even name that specific fear. No, Catra being safe and alone would be better than Adora being…

“You’ve been there for every one of her fucked up relationships, just like me. Could you imagine what would happen if it turned out it really was Catra, this whole time? Bow, I’m also asking you to consider the other possibility: that Catra _isn’t_ a spy at all. That Catra is a completely normal woman, living a normal life with a normal girlfriend. And I want that to be the truth! But given what we know, don’t we owe it to Adora to dig a little deeper and make sure that really _is_ the truth? You’re acting like I want to catch her, and I _don’t!_ I want to keep Adora safe. Nothing in the world is more important than that. I’d do the same for you.”

With those final words, Glimmer can feel the energy drained from her. Out of breath, she falls back into her chair.

Bow eyes her warily, and takes a while to formulate a response. When he speaks again, all of the heat has left his voice, replaced instead with that gentle tone that Glimmer finds so endearing.

“Okay.”

_That’s it?_

“I-- are you…”

“I agree, about keeping Adora safe. I don’t like it, but… I think you’re right.”

Glimmer opens her mouth to celebrate her victory, but is cut off before she has a chance to speak.

“But,” Bow says, “I still think she needs to know, eventually. I don’t know when, or how, but if this really is to protect her, then she deserves to know. I don’t care if she is a bad actress, she deserves to hear the truth. She suspects we’ve been working on something without her. Did you know that?”

Glimmer did not know that.

“I… did she say something? Did she ask you about it?”

Bow just shrugs, and says, “She’s dropped hints. Asking about the occasional late hours. About why I’m always in here before she is. Adora’s not stupid, Glimmer. Telling her is as much about what she deserves as it is about doing it before she finds out herself. And I think it should come from us.”

Whatever fight Glimmer has left in her is gone, whatever enthusiasm she has over her conversational win has dissipated. Bow’s words bring her back down, sobering her up.

_Grounding me._

With a small sigh, Glimmer says, “Okay. It’s a deal. We’ll tell her soon.”

Bow’s face softens, and he holds out his arms. Glimmer moves forward for a hug, letting herself be enveloped by his broad frame. She melts into the contact, can feel her fears being washed away.

“I’m sorry for being so grumpy,” Glimmer says into Bow’s shoulder. “I’m just so stressed with this, and I want us all to be safe…”

“I know,” he replies. “I know. I love you, Glimmer. And I know you’re trying to do what’s right.”

“I love you too, Bow.”

She takes a moment to revel in the warmth that floods through her at the exchanged words. They’ve been saying it for a few weeks now, but it still feels incredible to hear, every single time.

They pull apart slowly, reluctantly, and Bow places a kiss to her forehead.

Her favorite.

Feeling marginally less stressed now that she has a plan to fall back on, she allows herself to settle into her chair and grab the sandwich that Bow’s snagged for her. Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Adora walks inside, looking glum.

_Just a little bit longer._

_Hold on just a little bit longer._

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Weaver hasn’t contacted Catra in over a month and a half.

Catra isn’t naive enough to believe she’s in the clear; she’s always known she’ll have to face the consequences of her decision, someday. She’s not quite done with this part of her life. Not yet.

But those two weeks of bliss that she earned for herself turned quietly into three, and then four, and on and on and stretching and stretching until here she is, September 24th. Nearly two months since they’ve last seen each other. Since Weaver ordered her to…

But there’s no use dwelling on that now. Not only is it in the past, it’s been taken care of completely. Catra has her life with Adora now, and she’s more than content with that.

Fall has officially begun, and it’s a pleasant day, if a bit brisk. It’s clear and crisp, the way Catra prefers. Not bleak like winter, or sweltering like summer. Just right.

As such, Catra is out for a stroll, something she’s found herself craving lately. It’s midday, just before noon, and the perfect time to walk through a park and do some people watching. People watching is a pastime Catra’s always enjoyed, on the spare occasion she’s able to _enjoy_ anything. But with a bit more free time on her hands comes the resurrection of old hobbies.

She leisurely makes her way through the park, analyzing every new face and appreciating the way the crowd around her takes their time. After-brunch walks seem to attract the kind of folks who can slow down a little and savor the simple things. Catra spots a cute dog, and watches it waddle alongside its owner, tail furiously wagging back and forth. She smirks to herself, and when she tears her gaze from the dog and looks back up…

A familiar face in the crowd. Unmistakably, Jesse. They don’t meet Catra’s eyes directly, though they’re walking straight toward her. There’s a manila envelope tucked under one arm, and they’re striding purposefully forward.

_Shit…_

Catra knows they won’t exchange words when they meet, but she finds herself thinking of things to say anyway. _Thank you,_ perhaps, as Jesse’s help was integral to the life she now leads. Or maybe _get out while you can._ It doesn’t matter though. They’re fifteen feet away, and grabbing for the envelope…

Ten feet, almost there…

Jesse shoves the envelope into Catra’s waiting arms without breaking stride, and then they’re gone. Catra smoothly tucks it into her coat, and begins planning a course to circle back around and get herself home.

Looks like there’s still work to be done.

* * *

Thankfully, Catra’s first assignment in months is quite easy. It’s a routine check-in with a contact she’s been developing for a little over a year. He’s a low-level worker in the Deputy Secretary of Defense’s office, where he’s managed to plant a bug. Once upon a time, this whole thing was one in a slew of operations that had been thrust upon Catra, an ongoing project that requires meeting discreetly in public. That means disguises, dead drops, and lots of waiting.

Not exactly high priority, but the timing seems about right. It’s been roughly three months since their last meeting, and they’re due for another.

As Catra scans the order, she begins to replace some of those walls in her mind that she’s worked so hard to bring down. There’s a clear separation now, between what she has to do to keep up her charade, and what she would rather be doing. She’s reminded once again of her plan to finally come clean to Adora.

She figures the best way to do it will be to take a weekend to themselves, entirely dedicated to explaining what’s been going on. She’ll approach it with a sort of script, showcasing who Catra is, and most importantly, _why_ she is. She’s confident that under the right circumstances, Adora will be able to handle the information just fine. The matter simply requires a delicate touch, and a massive amount of planning. There are a multitude of things that Catra wants to tell Adora; the better organized she is, the better her chances of success.

She reaches the end of the order, and tosses it aside onto her couch. She’s not thrilled about having to work again, but at least a mission like this is simple. If this is The Center’s way of easing her back into it, she supposes the gesture is appreciated. If this is instead Weaver’s petty way of reclaiming Catra’s time and energy, well… She’ll just have to make sure not to give too much of either one.

The meeting is scheduled for later this afternoon, which gives her plenty of time to prepare. She begins to mentally plan out everything she needs.

_Wig, colored contact, makeup, gun, coat…_

She’s surprised by how little effort it requires to slip back into the mindset needed for this kind of work.

 _Old habits really do die hard,_ she thinks bitterly.

* * *

**_Glimmer_ **

It’s the 24th of September, 1:04 in the afternoon, when Glimmer receives the news.

She’s packed into the secure room for another intelligence briefing, being led by Adora. She, Bow, and three other surveillance agents are paying close attention to Adora’s plan for closer-range monitoring of targets in the field. Adora is just about to go over the newest reports they’ve received about Burov’s whereabouts, when an agent bursts into the room, unannounced.

He stands unceremoniously in the doorway as the entire room falls silent and turns in unison to stare at their intruder.

“Special A-agent Moon,” he stammers. “You’re needed right away. Something’s happened.”

Glimmer can feel the color drain from her face.

_Fuck…_

She shoots a quick glance to Adora, whose eyes are narrowed.

_Not good._

“Agent Foster, I-- does this have to be right now?” Glimmer finds herself saying.

Foster nods his head.

“Yes ma’am. I… Yes.”

“Glimmer, what’s going on?” Adora asks.

Glimmer shoots a glance at Bow, begging to be rescued.

“It’s… nothing, Adora. It’s alright. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She rises from her seat and rushes out of the room, where Foster waits. He motions for her to follow, and he slips into Ward’s office, adjacent to the secure room. Ward’s out right now, and the room is unoccupied. Glimmer follows swiftly, and is greeted by two other agents. In all, they make up one of her surveillance teams.

One of _Catra’s_ surveillance teams.

“Ma’am, the target was out this morning at a park. She was approached by someone else, and handed an envelope. No contact between the target and this new person but… we all know what we saw. The target took the envelope and immediately headed home. It was an exchange.”

“Fuck.”

Glimmer’s head begins to spin.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck…”

_Catra… is actually…_

_No. We don’t for certain what’s going on. Now get out there and find the fuck out._

“Ma’am, we should move qui--”

“I know what to do, Agent Foster. Gather up a squad, get yourselves geared up. We’re headed to the target’s residence for a stakeout. If anything happens with her, we’ll be there to catch it. Is there a team on her right now?”

Another agent speaks up, stepping forward.

“Yes ma’am. Our relief is currently watching the house. She hasn’t left.”

Glimmer clenches her jaw.

“Good. Keep me updated. Now get a move on.”

The agents spill from Ward’s office. Outside, Adora and Bow are waiting for her. Glimmer immediately grabs Bow and drags him back into the secure room.

“Glimmer,” Adora calls, “Glimmer will someone please tell me what’s--”

“I’m sorry Adora, I’m sorry. Give me two seconds, please. This is important.”

The door shuts behind them with a reassuring click, and she’s alone with Bow.

“Glimmer, is it--”

“Yes. They were on her today as she walked through a park and she-- _fuck,_ Bow, she got handed an envelope. They think it was an exchange. God, I just… is this it? Is this happening?”

“Hey, hey…”

Bow places a soothing hand on her shoulder, and then pulls her in for a hug.

“It’ll be okay. We don’t know for sure what’s going on. What’s your next step?”

Glimmer takes a shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure.

“I… I told the team to gather up more people. We’re gonna monitor the house, and make sure she doesn’t do anything. I should probably… go get some gear, too.”

Bow nods.

“That’s a good idea. I'll come meet you in a few minutes?”

“Okay… okay. Sorry this is so crazy, I just… This is it. I need to keep us safe. I need to keep Adora safe.”

“I know, babe. Be careful.”

Glimmer takes one more deep breath, and rests her fingers on the handle.

“I will be. I promise.”

She swings open the door, and Adora is still standing in the main office, looking dumbfounded.

“Glimmer, tell me right now. Tell me what’s happening. Is this what you two have been doing without me?”

Glimmer flashes an apologetic look and brushes past Adora to grab her jacket from her desk.

“I have to move quickly, Adora. Just… this doesn’t have to do with you. You’ve got your thing with Burov, we have our own thing with someone else. We’ll tell you later, if it even turns out to be anything.”

The lie is so easy to tell...

... and now it’s been said. Impossible to take back.

Adora’s face is not one of simple understanding, but of suspicion. Betrayal.

Glimmer grits her teeth and breezes out of the office, into the hallway. She has work to do.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

Adora turns to Bow, and she can’t keep the panic and the anger out of her voice.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck is happening here?”

Bow gives her a hard look, and just says, “It’s complicated.”

Adora huffs for a moment before replying incredulously, “I, It’s _complicated?_ Are you kidding me, Bow? You better tell me. Glimmer’s too much of a stubborn idiot to say anything, but I _know_ you can tell me.”

Bow heaves a sigh.

“Glimmer is… she’s right. This doesn’t have anything to do with you. What we’re doing… someone might be in danger. We’re working to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The words wash over Adora, and she immediately feels a pang of guilt.

_Danger. That’s why we do this job, to save people._

Over the last few weeks, she hasn’t exactly been the most invested in their job. That nagging feeling had finally come to a head, and she’d asked Glimmer and Bow to reconsider what they do. But this…

This is different.

This is a reminder of the occasional good moments of their job, where they’re needed most. Saving people is what it’s all about, right?

_Stupid. I’ve been so stupid!_

_Glimmer and Bow have been working overtime to help someone, and I’ve been talking about quitting._

_Fuck!_

Adora immediately feels the need to be useful. She's been wasting away her days, while her friends are putting in actual work...

“Okay… is there, I dunno, anything I can do to help?”

A pained look passes over Bow’s face, just for a split second.

“I’m not sure about that. There might be something to do once Glimmer’s… operation is over. But for now, you’re going to have to sit tight.”

“Are you kidding me? You tell me someone’s in danger and expect me _not_ to go help?”

“I know, I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you stick around here for a while, and try to get some more work done with Burov? That’s still important. I know you’re not… in the best of shape, with work right now. And I know it might seem like it's getting nowhere, but it's worth it. Just remember that getting Burov might help people too. It might even make the work we’re doing right now a whole lot easier.”

Bow, as usual, is right. Adora doesn’t like it, but who is she to argue? As long as she’s useful, she shouldn’t complain.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. If I really can’t help… I’ll keep doing what I can from here. You two go be heroes.”

Bow almost lights up, and then places a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you Adora! It’s a complicated situation, but it’ll all be okay. I promise.”

He rushes out of the office, leaving Adora standing alone.

_Really weird day._

_Huh._

* * *

**_Glimmer_ **

It’s an hour before Glimmer’s squad arrives in Catra and Adora’s neighborhood.

With their fleet of surveillance cars, they’ve established a wide perimeter around Catra’s house. If they’re too close, Catra will surely notice. Luckily, Glimmer has around fifteen people under her direct command to pull this off. More than enough to cast a wide net.

Glimmer and Bow wait patiently in a car, one with tinted windows. If Catra sees them…

Glimmer shakes her head. No time to be thinking about that. Stakeouts have the potential to be among the dullest jobs an agent can perform, as she’s found out. But today, Glimmer’s heart is pounding and her mind is reeling. No, this will not be as boring as stakeouts of the past.

Today, Glimmer has a singular focus.

One goal: find out the truth.

So she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

An--

The radio in her lap crackles to life.

“Target on the move.”

* * *

**_Catra_ **

Catra gives herself a once-over in the mirror.

Two blue eyes? Check.

Makeup covering those pesky freckles? Check.

A wig full of mousy, messy curls? Check.

Fake glasses? Check.

A perfect disguise. If there’s one thing Catra’s taken pride in with regards to her unsavory work, it’s her ability to go unnoticed and undetected. She always was the best in her class.

She grabs for a handbag, packed with the essentials. A gun, some basic tools, a pair of gloves. Nothing too fancy. An assignment like this doesn’t call for much.

If this is her last mission, Catra supposes it’s fitting that it’s something so mundane. Retrieving tapes from a bug. Total classic.

And with a little luck, this _will_ be her last mission.

She can come clean to Adora, and finally carry out her plan. They can be together with nothing keeping them apart, no more lies between them.

A beautiful wish.

Catra keeps that wish firmly in mind as she snatches her keys off a nearby table.

Time to go prove she’s still got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please watch your step on the way out. There appears to be a cliff.
> 
> I've finally made a Twitter exclusively for She-Ra stuff, follow me if you want! You can find that right [here.](https://twitter.com/cheesybiscuit7)
> 
> Also, if you missed it, I've posted a [deleted scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992672) from last chapter. It's fun and smutty and begging to be read! Check that out if ya want.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments and feedback, it keeps me going. Until next time, folks!


	15. world gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra goes for a run. Friction builds between Glimmer and her allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh civilian  
> Idling along  
> How can you understand that  
> There's a whole world gone wrong
> 
> _"Around U" - MUNA ___  
> 

**_Catra_ **

Folger Park.

That’s where her meeting is set to take place.

It’s a quaint little municipal area, and one Catra frequents. Open footpaths, benches, and trees make for the perfect espionage playground. Catra’s whiled away many hours on those benches, waiting for a dead drop to be placed in the crook of a nearby tree or in a trash can.

Folger Park is also the site of several meetings with Weaver, including one fairly recently, when Catra had allowed herself some semblance of rebellion. Owning the news of her ‘failure’ at that fucking military compound had been her first major step on the path she now treads. Chewing Weaver out had been the second. And both happened in that park.

Catra’s relationship to the spaces around her has always been… strained. She is neither a local, nor is she a tourist; everywhere she visits holds the potential to become the scene of a crime. Her attachments to _places_ and _buildings_ and _land_ in this country are limited.

It wasn’t until Adora showed up that her house actually began to feel like a _home._

Mara’s Place, the bar they still visit every Friday night, has become something of a home as well, privy to her and Adora’s rare moments of public intimacy.

And so Folger Park has been wrapped up into her shifting mindset, representing a sort of abstract resistance, against Weaver, against The Center, all of it. Folger Park has ceased to be just a place that Americans go to relax or a place Catra uses for work. Now, it is a pleasant park filled with… memories. A place she holds in her heart with some fondness.

The route there from her house is little more than muscle memory these days, and the roads and traffic fade away as Catra focuses on the task at hand.

Jim Breland.

Not an important man, in the grand scheme of things. Quite ordinary, nothing much of note to his name. Except, of course, his position of employment. An intern, or one step above an intern, in the Deputy Secretary of Defense’s office. He’s a kid, really, burned out from college and frustrated and disillusioned and alone.

The perfect clay from which to mold a willing spy for the KGB.

Planting the bug eleven months ago had been simple, after Catra had gained his trust. He’s an agreeable sort of guy, and sympathetic to her country’s cause.

 _Not my country anymore,_ Catra reminds herself. _I don’t have one of those._

Ever since his recruitment, someone from The Center arranges a meeting once every few months. Catra collects the tapes, checks in on Jim, and disappears like a ghost. Her requisite disguise means the poor boy couldn’t ID her even if he wanted to.

Catra adjusts her curly-haired wig in her car’s rear view mirror, noticing the fit is slightly off. This one is always finicky, it seems. It isn’t long before Catra is nearing her destination; she pulls off on E Street, content to walk the rest of the way.

As she steps out of the car, she pulls her coat a little tighter around her frame. There’s a chill to the wind, a bitter turn since the pleasant crispness of this morning’s climate. She slings her bag over her shoulder, and begins to walk.

Despite the chill, there’s a fair number of folks out attempting to enjoy the weather. To anyone else, she might be one of them.

After a few hundred feet, Catra meets up with the block of flat, open greenery adjacent to the park. She walks swiftly along the perimeter, sticking to the sidewalks.

There really are quite a few people out today.

She checks her watch.

3:54. She’s making good time.

Catra’s almost to the park now. She should be early enough to conduct a routine sweep of the area before she’s technically expected for the meeting.

And a sweep might be necessary, with so many others out and about.

Catra’s pace quickens an imperceptible amount.

So small an amount, in fact, that her mind doesn’t even recognize what her body has done.

She’s met up with the footpaths now, a familiar pattern of winding little walkways, burned into her mind. She steps past a bench, which is occupied. So is the next one. Hmm.

The park is small, and usually sparsely populated.

It typically has just the right amount of foot traffic for unobstructed work.

But today, once again, is different.

Today, there are too many people.

It’s not quite right.

Catra’s eyes begin to dart back and forth with more intensity.

Her pace quickens again.

This time, she notices.

Her hand, in the pocket of her coat, grips tightly to the compact pistol stashed there.

Things are wrong.

Twenty five yards away, Jim Breland waves at her from his own bench.

He’s the only one who feels like he’s meant to be there.

A familiar face, there for a reason.

But everyone else...

There’s about six people between him and her, milling about on the pathway.

Two of them are a couple, walking her way and speaking animatedly.

The man is throwing his hands out in wide gestures, apparently telling quite an engaging story...

But Catra can hear every word they’re saying.

She can hear how stiff and unnatural the conversation is.

How he’s talking about nothing at all.

Despite the outward display of absorption, he’s glancing around nervously.

She can see the man’s coat, can see his pocket.

She can see the outline of a radio stashed there.

Catra stops in her tracks.

The couple matches her movement, fifteen yards away.

Catra meets the man’s gaze.

He stares right back.

She bolts.

Rather than turning heel, she barrels straight ahead.

She aims for the couple, who are obviously a patrol team.

The action startles them, and she pushes them both to the ground as she runs past.

Behind her, they curse in frustration.

Savoring her momentary edge and sprinting forward, her only goal is to get the hell out of this park, _now._

She spots more movement out of the corner of her eye, knows it can only be one thing.

There’s crackling voices, orders given through radios. It’s all around her, _they’re_ all around her…

_Fuck fuck fuck, this has to be a setup..._

Catra skids to a halt on the sidewalk, on the opposite side of the park. She pushes off a nearby tree to quickly change direction, and finds herself sprinting farther into the city. She can hear others right behind her, maybe only ten feet between them…

_Fuck!_

Her lungs burn.

Her sides ache.

Her feet cry out against her sloppy, frantic running technique, and the fake glasses dig into her face as cold wind streams past.

She pushes down every pain, pushes aside her fears, and runs through her options in a split second.

There’s a safehouse--

_No, not with them on your fucking tail!_

There’s buildings downtown to lose them in--

_No, you’ll get trapped inside, there’s more of them than you!_

There’s several parking garages scattered around the city, with backup vehicles stashed there for easy use--

_Not gonna happen when they’re on your ass, you fucking--_

Catra’s train of thought is interrupted by a gunshot, ringing out loud and clear.

_Fuck!!_

She has no idea where the bullet goes, only that it misses her.

Over the sound of her feet slapping against concrete and her heaving, rattling breaths, she can just barely make out staticky yelling from a radio, chastising the shooter.

_Fuck, they want me alive?_

With the park far behind her, Catra finds herself sprinting past townhouses, dodging trees and passersby with the finesse and skill that only years of training could have provided. She slips right through a couple on a walk, shoving between them gracefully and hearing a muffled yell from behind as her pursuers are caught in the tangle of people.

Every inch of her is on fire, her body screaming and protesting and attempting mutiny as she strains, sweats, swears. But she does not slow down, even a fraction. 

The scenery begins to blur, and her vision tints with red as she pushes past a barrier she didn’t know existed.

The townhouses blend into shops and businesses, and the crowds get thicker the closer she comes to the heart of the city.

How many blocks has she run? How close are they?

She can’t stop to look, she has to run, get away, run, but _where…_

Behind her, barely audible over the whistling wind, a voice calls, “Catra!!”

A familiar voice.

_Shit, no no no no no…_

“Catra, wait!!”

_What is she doing here?!_

Catra rounds a corner, just barely managing to slip nimbly around a group of four tourists.

But there is no frustrated growl that follows, and it appears her pursuer is just as agile.

_Fuck!_

Catra doesn’t even know how long she’s been running, how long her lungs have been crying out in pain…

She can’t keep this up forever. She can’t.

Catra takes yet another corner, and finds herself on a quieter, emptier street. The first chance she gets, she ducks into an alleyway, one that goes all the way through. She shuffles to the other end as quickly as she can, and drops to her knees as huge, heaving gasps roll through her body. She sucks down air in enormous gulps, and clutches at her sides.

_Fuck…_

Tears sting at her eyes and her lips are dried and chapped.

“Catra?”

Her head snaps up at the voice. There, at the opposite end of the alley, is Glimmer.

Catra’s heart breaks.

Of course it’s Glimmer.

Glimmer, who’s much too smart for her own good.

Glimmer, the ball of energy and exuberance, uncontainable and wild.

Of course it’s Glimmer who figured her out. Who probably heard her voice do something strange _one_ time and became obsessed. Who threw her suspicious glances when she thought Catra wasn’t looking.

Glimmer, who’s eerily similar to Catra herself, whether she’d admit it or not.

The two women stare at each other across the alley for a brief, quiet moment. 

And then Catra is running again.

Running from her friend, who she’s betrayed.

Running from her death, the inevitable end of her journey.

Running from the fate that’s been chosen for her ever since she was fifteen and desperate.

Running from her ghost, the KGB officer whose only option was to join up or starve.

Running, because it’s the only thing she knows to do.

* * *

It’s about half an hour later that Catra takes a furtive look around, and discovers she is no longer being pursued. She’s come to a panting stop somewhere near Dupont Circle, having made it almost all the way across the city. 

_No way I lost Glimmer. Unless she’s more of a sprinter?_

But there’s no time for idle thinking. Catra collapses into another alley, and takes quick stock of her updated options.

With no apparent tails, she determines that her best option is to head straight for a nearby parking garage, snag a backup car, and get the hell out. She begins to move, but a nagging thought holds her back. There may still be agents in the vicinity, although they clearly don’t know where she is.

She glances at her watch. It’s almost five.

Rush hour.

Catra’s not confident in her ability to get much farther on foot, and she needs rest, desperately. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the crowds pass, let them think that she’s slipped away, made it much farther than she really has. After things have calmed down, she can attempt to make her way to a parking garage, where her salvation awaits.

It’s not the most brilliant plan she’s ever had, but as she sits in the alleyway, catching her breath, it’s the best she’s got.

Set on a course of action, she sighs, long and low, and lets her head fall between her knees.

Instinct and training slowly seep out of her body, replaced for the first time in hours with feeling, thinking.

It’s a painful process.

It’s overwhelming, the true weight of what’s happening not quite registering.

Everything is over.

All of it.

She’s been caught, and now it’s over.

They know who she is.

 _Glimmer_ knows who she is.

Adora might know too… and if she doesn’t by now, she certainly will by tomorrow.

Adora…

Adora, the only thing that’s real in her whole shitty life.

Adora, who she loves…

It’s unsalvageable. It’s a wreck. They can never be together now, no matter what happens. Adora will know, and she will resent Catra for the rest of her days.

And Catra?

She’ll be locked up in some cell, at best.

At worst, The Center will catch word of all of this and send someone to take care of her. She’s heard of it happening once before, a decade ago. Why not now? Why not her?

It’s too much.

Tears begin to stream down Catra cheeks, and silent sobs wrack her fragile frame.

Why?

Why did it have to be now?

Why couldn’t Glimmer have been a little less keen? Why couldn’t Bow have convinced her to wait?

Why is it now?

Through her pain, through her grief, she flashes back two months. Konstantin Arkadyevich, standing stock-still in the library.

_“I am often under surveillance.”_

He’s being watched. The Rezident is being watched.

And if he’s being watched…

Oh.

Glimmer’s been on her for months now, hasn’t she?

_Fuck! Stupid, stupid…_

_Glimmer’s been suspicious for ages and you never saw it for what it really was!_

She’s been under surveillance, just like her superior. It seems as though the FBI is finally closing in.

But why today?

Why this mission?

Why--

Wait.

Weaver. It’s so clear. This is a setup, orchestrated by that bitter, vindictive, evil old woman. One last parting gift, as much a death sentence as it is a simple show of power. How even now, she twists and curls her way into Catra’s life, poisoning and destroying and possessing.

Catra’s always known she’d have to face the fallout of her choice, but this is a new low, even for Weaver.

 _She must really be desperate._ Catra almost chuckles, the feelings inside of her threatening to boil over.

_God dammit…_

_I’ll kill her._

_I swear on whatever I have left that I’ll kill her._

* * *

**_Glimmer_ **

She’s lost Catra.

One moment she’s in her sights, and the next she’s vanished.

Glimmer skids to a halt, gasping and grimacing.

“Fuck!” she yells, and gives a frustrated kick at the air. She quickly glances around, soaking in her surroundings. She’s near Dupont Circle; it’ll have to do.

Glimmer reaches into her pocket, grabs the radio.

“Target is somewhere in the vicinity of Dupont Circle. I need a two mile radius around my location, _now._ I’ve lost her, but if we’re quick enough she’ll be boxed in. Move it!”

She doesn’t need to stick around to know her team is carrying out her orders. She leans up against a nearby brick wall, grabs at a stitch in her side.

_Fuck, that girl can run…_

Glimmer checks her watch. 4:49.

They’ve been at this for a fucking _hour…_

And god, Glimmer should have known. With a cry of frustration, she slams her head into the wall behind her, and then yells in pain.

She should have known Catra would run. What the fuck else did she expect? That Catra would come willingly?

_Stupid!!_

And to even be thinking this right now, to know for certain that it’s her, fuck fuck _fuck…_

Catra’s a KGB spy. Catra has been lying every second of every day. Catra is lying to Adora.

Adora…

Some terrible, bitter, resentful part of her rears its head, allowed to step into the light for the first time.

 _I was right,_ she thinks. _I was right, and Adora really_ was _in danger._

_I never wanted to be right._

Glimmer turns around and kicks the bricks, regrets her choice immediately.

“Fuck!! God fucking damn it! No, no no no no!! Fuck, no!!”

She shouts until she can shout no longer. Until her voice is hoarse and hurting and crying for relief. A single tear makes its way down her cheek, coming to rest at the corner of her mouth and seeping the faintest bit of salty taste onto Glimmer’s chapped lips.

“Fuck…”

Just then, Bow rounds the nearest corner and runs up beside her.

“Glimmer, are you okay?” He reaches out a steadying hand and helps her upright.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she grits out. “Really wonderful. Fuck…”

Bow leans in a little closer, grabs her by both shoulders.

“Where was she? Where did you lose her?”

“Here, somewhere. I just turned the corner and she was fucking _gone._ She has to be tired. She has to. We’ve been at this for a fucking hour, she can’t make it much farther on foot. Is the team getting in place?”

Bow nods in confirmation.

“Foster’s unit is in position to the north. We’ve pulled Reed’s unit and they’re working from the east, along the river. The rest of our team is right behind me, covering south and west. Some of them should already be in position by now. Should we work with local police to create the perimeter?”

Glimmer scoffs.

“No, definitely not. I don’t trust them worth a damn, and besides… we don’t know if there’s anyone else Catra’s working with. What if she’s not alone? What if there’s more? If we mobilize the police it’ll tip them off, and for nothing. Our agents need to keep their heads down, watch the streets, and lure her out. It’s the only way this works.”

A look of concern passes over Bow’s face, but he nods along with this as well.

“Okay. I agree with that much. It’s the only way to draw her out safely.”

“Right, exactly. It’s the only way to keep her from…”

She trails off, not wanting to complete her thought.

“If anyone finds her, I don’t want them doing anything until either you or I show up. Do they know that?”

“They do. I’ve already told them.”

“Okay. Good.”

Bow’s expression of concern doesn’t falter.

“Hey. Are you… okay?”

She really doesn’t have time for this. Not with everything that’s just happened…

“I already told you, I’m fine. Look at me. Just tir--”

“Glimmer, you know what I mean. Are you _okay?”_

A beat passes before she can muster the strength to respond, even if her answer is to simply dodge the question.

“It doesn’t matter. That won’t matter until everyone is safe.”

She takes a deep breath, clenches her jaw.

“I’m gonna go back to headquarters while you guys set up. I need to keep Adora from doing anything stupid.”

“Are you sure? I cou--”

“No, Bow. I have to do this alone. I need you here, watching over things.”

Bow hesitates at that, eyes her warily.

“Not sure what you can say to her at this point. You’re not gonna handcuff her to a desk, are you?”

Glimmer heaves a sigh, and ignores the attempt at a joke.

“She’s got to know something’s up by now. I still don’t know if I can tell her, but she’s bound to stick her nose into this once she catches wind of the actual operation. She can’t do that, not until we have Catra. Is there a car I can take back?”

Bow holds her gaze, expression unreadable and hard.

“Yeah. There is.”

“Okay, good.”

Bow stares through her a moment longer, and then reaches for his radio.

Glimmer isn’t sure if she imagines the hurt in his eyes, or if she’s just delirious from all that running.

_Fuck. I need some water._

* * *

It’s 5:32 when Glimmer stalks back into headquarters, exhausted and heartbroken and on her last nerve.

The office is all but deserted, save a lone figure.

Adora, sitting at her desk. Her arms are crossed, and she looks expectant.

Her voice is a low growl as she says “You better tell me what the fuck is happening, and why I’m not a part of it.”

_Uh oh._

This is not the kind of Adora she wants to deal with right now. Not one bit. She’s had enough combative encounters to last a lifetime.

“I thought Bow explained?”

“He just said someone was in danger. I focused on my own work for a little while, until literally everyone rushed out. What the hell is happening? Tell it to me straight, Glimmer. You owe me the truth.”

Glimmer’s shoulders sag with the force of her sigh, and she walks closer to Adora, leaning against a vacant desk.

“Fine. We’re hunting an Illegal. We found one.”

An uncomfortable tension hangs between them, as Adora refuses to break the silence, refuses to react. Finally, she shows some signs of comprehending, and narrows her eyes.

“The entire Bureau… is out chasing a Russian spy, and I’m just… just _sitting_ here?! What the fuck, Glimmer! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

“Adora, this is dangerous work. I wanted to keep you behind to… to keep you safe. I realize that sounds like a shitty excuse but there’s no way I can risk los--”

“What about Bow? Bow’s out there right now, isn’t he? If he is, why not me? Why did you just… just make that decision for me?”

“Adora, listen to me. Bow’s been with me on this from the beginning. It’s different. He knows the risks. But I’m trying to--”

“No!” Adora stands up now, towering over her, hurt showing plainly on her face. “I won’t let you choose for me, we’re a team, we’ve _always_ been a team. You’re gonna assign me a role on this mission, because I am helping whoev--”

Glimmer can’t hold it back any longer. She takes an aggressive step forward, and finds herself shouting up at her friend.

“No, Adora! You don’t get to tell me what to do, not with this. You have no _idea_ what’s going on here. None! I have authority over this whole operation, straight from Ward, straight from whoever’s above him. God knows we’ve followed your lead enough, but not now. Not with this. We’re about to catch our spy, Adora. Our spy. And all of this… Everything I’m doing is to protect people. To protect _you._ I’m not asking you to trust the Bureau, but can’t you at least trust me?”

“I don’t know! Can I?!”

Glimmer falters, spluttering for a moment as a dark look passes over Adora’s face.

“I, wh-- of course you c--”

“If you’re really in charge here, then give me something. Assign me to this operation, _please._ If there’s something to be done, let me do it. If there’s someone to be helped, let me help. I don’t have anything else.”

At those words, Glimmer’s heart breaks anew.

“Adora, I…”

Adora’s voice is a far away whisper as she says, “Please, Glimmer.”

Glimmer shouldn’t.

She really shouldn’t.

Sending Adora into the field can only end badly.

But what else can she do?

Here is her best friend, begging to be made useful. Glimmer knows how important that instinct is, knows it’s impossible to ignore.

If she doesn’t indulge this, Adora’s just going to go off on her own, and that’ll be even worse…

Glimmer grits her teeth.

“Fine. I just… need a moment to think. This operation is… a lot.”

The expression of relief painted on Adora’s features almost makes this worth it.

Almost.

“Thank you Glimmer. I--”

“Don’t thank me. I don’t want to do this and you know it, so let’s drop the bullshit.”

Adora pulls a face, but stays silent.

The perimeter is huge. There’s dozens of agents out there, right now.

She could send Adora to keep watch with Bow, who would know to keep his mouth shut about who they’re after. But no… Bow’s needed in the area with the highest likelihood of being Catra’s escape route.

Adora should be somewhere far, far away. 

Somewhere Catra won’t go, not in a million years.

Glimmer heaves another sigh in as many minutes, and puts herself in Catra’s shoes. Where is she least likely to go, surrounded by agents?

East, over the Potomac, Glimmer concludes.

Catra won’t be returning to her house; she must know by now that it’s being monitored, along with Adora’s place. The most logical move is for her to go north, away from the city and away from her past.

_I know how she thinks. We’re similar, whether she’d admit it or not._

Glimmer prays to whoever’s listening that her hunch is enough to keep Adora safe.

“Okay. I’m assigning you to Reed’s unit, along the Potomac. We’re monitoring a huge area, a two mile radius around Dupont Circle. The river forms a natural part of that boundary, and the areas near the bridges are a choke point. I can give you the details of where to go in a moment, after I let Reed know you’ll be joining her. You should grab some gear. You’ll need a radio, and do you have your--”

“Service weapon? You know I do.”

Adora pulls back her jacket, reveals the holster strapped to her side.

“Right. Should have known. Give me a moment up here, and then I’ll meet you down on the first floor.”

Adora nods, slumps her shoulders slightly.

“Okay. And… I know this isn’t your first choice. But you’re trusting me enough to send me out there, so… thank you.”

Glimmer pushes down the now-familiar pang of guilt, knows this lie is for the best.

_Trusting you. Right._

“Yeah… just promise me you’ll stay safe, Adora. That’s what this is about, after all.”

“I… okay. I promise.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Glimmer feels compelled to surge forward and wrap her friend in a hug. She thinks that, just maybe, Adora feels it too.

Instead, Adora slips past Glimmer without another word and walks right out the office door.

The sound of her footsteps echoes through the hall, growing softer and softer the farther away she gets.

Glimmer lets out a breath, eases the tension from her shoulders.

Fuck. Fuck!

_Why can’t anything go right in this fucking job?_

She grabs her radio again, switches it to Reed’s channel.

“Agent Reed, I’m sending Special Agent Gray to your unit. I want you to place her in the area with the least amount of traffic. Make things easy on her, and don’t tell her more than you have to. That’s an order.”

Reed’s voice crackles to life, saying, “You got it, boss. Is she in trouble?”

“No, but you’re to keep her safe. I don’t want her on this operation, and she knows it. She might try to pull rank. I don’t care if she’s a Special Agent, you’re in charge of that unit and I’m in charge of both of you. So… just don’t let her do anything stupid. Please.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Glimmer switches off the radio, and collapses into the nearest chair.

“Fuck!”

Her voice reverberates around the empty office, bouncing right back to her.

This is getting worse and worse. Out of control and out of hand.

_We better fucking find her. For her sake as well as mine._

The familiar, dull whine of a motor makes Glimmer raise her head, look to the door.

Clunkily, Swiftie rolls into the office, giving a beep to announce its arrival. In the outgoing mail tray, there’s a single sheet of paper.

Glimmer crosses the office and gives Swiftie an affectionate pat, reaching for the note.

It’s a memo from the third floor, where the paper-pushers and administrative offices reside. It contains three simple sentences, typed out neatly in plain font:

**“Keep it down please. It sounds like there’s a stampede. We’re trying to get work done.”**

Glimmer scoffs, and checks the timestamp.

4:13 this afternoon.

_Of fucking course._

“Good job, Swiftie. You did your best.” Her voice is surprisingly soft, gentle. Maybe even a touch wistful.

She gives the mail robot another pat, and lets her gaze fall to the floor.

“Just like me.”

* * *

**_Catra_ **

It’s been five hours.

Five hours of crouching behind a dumpster in a dank, damp alley.

Five hours of clutching her gun like a lifeline, reacting to any and every sound as though it might be the last thing she ever hears.

Five hours of darkness slowly creeping over everything, finally swallowing the cold and unforgiving day, giving way to a colder, harsher night.

People pass by her little alley, sometimes chattering away, other times silent and solemn. A few houseless people walk through, nod at her where she sits. She nods right back, grateful for what little company they provide as they pass by.

She curls into herself, thankful for the warm coat that once formed part of her disguise. The ridiculous wig full of curls also stays in place, just an additional layer between her and the biting fall air.

Catra wishes desperately for water. Her antics earlier in the day have left her weak and parched.

She wishes desperately for the warmth and comfort of her house, her bed, her partner…

But that’s all gone now.

She’s getting restless. She can’t stay here much longer.

She checks her watch again, just to be sure of the timing. 10:13.

It’s time to move.

Catra stands, stretches her limbs. She reaches up and begins to undo her wig; most of the agents pursuing her have only seen her in her disguise, and not out of it. It’s a gamble that she’s hoping will pay off.

The adhesive holding it in place rips at her skin, but she barely notices the pain. It comes up slowly, peeling off of the cap underneath, to protect her actual hair.

It finally comes away, and she tosses it aside, spits on it for good measure.

“Fucking thing…” she mutters.

The cap is next to come off, and her hair remains plastered to her head with sweat and bobby pins. Impatient, she rips at them until they clatter to the ground, and her matted hair tumbles free. She runs her fingers soothingly through her mane, working out the kinks.

She can almost imagine it’s Adora’s fingers, threading lovingly through her hair as she dozes off, perhaps after a peaceful night of watching TV on the couch.

But it’s not Adora.

And it never will be again.

She doesn’t have a mirror to check her reflection, but doesn’t need it. Too many missions have refined her skills, and she knows she’s presentable once more.

The fake glasses and the handbag have been ditched long ago, though she still clutches her gun and her tools, each in a pocket of her winter coat.

The only question now is where to go?

Catra racks her brain, and is immediately hit with an unconventional solution.

There’s a parking garage she uses frequently, one that’s smaller and less well known. She hasn’t been spotted there before, and it’s less likely to have agents watching it.

It’s become one of her go-to spots, being just inside the city and by the river. It’s easiest to reach in a hurry, especially when she’s commuting from Falls Church every time she has an assignment in the city.

She nods to herself absently. The Potomac, that’s where she needs to go.

It might be a bit of a trek, but if she succeeds she’ll be rewarded with freedom from this waking nightmare.

And if it doesn’t work?

Well, then she’s already dead.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

It’s 10:48, and Adora is exhausted. 

Arriving at the building where Agent Reed is stationed, she’d been given the info on who they’re looking for and their likely appearance.

A woman, probably the one from the sketches. Okay, good start.

Curly hair, glasses, a coat…

It sounds a lot like a disguise, which makes plenty of sense. What else would it be?

On the lookout for this spy, Adora’s been placed near the roads leading to the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge.

For the past five hours, she’s been here with a pair of binoculars, checking out every pedestrian and occasionally a car in the now-dwindling traffic. Not one person has matched their description, and she’s getting tired. Her eyes are strained, having looked through these binoculars entirely too much.

From her vantage point, she not only has a good view of the smaller roads, but also some buildings, including one long, low parking structure and some place owned by the State Department where they do god knows what.

All told, it’s been a long night. Quiet, a little dull, and not quite what she was expecting.

Beside her, on top of a small duffle bag, lies her radio. It crackles to life every so often with check-ins from the other units, but nobody has yet identified their target. Looks like she’ll be out here a while longer.

Adora checks out what feels like the hundredth Mercedes-Benz W124, which just holds a bored-looking businessman in a rumpled suit. Nothing of interest there.

A civilian catches Adora’s eye, and she swivels slightly to take a closer look.

They’re a lone figure, probably short, if Adora had to guess. They have their hands shoved deep into the pockets of their coat, and their collar is turned up around their face. They walk swiftly and purposefully, headed toward the small parking garage.

Hmm.

She’s seen plenty of civilians tonight, but most travel in pairs or groups. The ones who do walk alone are almost exclusively men, and the few women haven’t matched the description. But this one...

This one feels different. The hidden face, the stride…

A swooping feeling begins to form in Adora’s stomach, a trickle of an idea, of anticipation.

_That might be her._

_That might be our spy._

And she’s completely alone, entering a structure with one major exit; Adora watches as the figure silently slips into the parking garage.

Adora’s hand hovers over her radio, but she stops herself before scooping it up and reporting what she’s seen.

Glimmer doesn’t trust her with this, that much is true.

But Adora’s tired of not being trusted. Of not being told the truth, given the full story.

She has a sneaking suspicion that being placed here, under Agent Reed’s watchful eye, is some sort of punishment.

Babysitting.

_If Glimmer doesn’t trust me…_

_… I’ll just have to trust myself._

Adora retracts her hand, and reaches instead for her pistol, where it rests in its holster. She gives it a once-over, and finds everything in order.

She grits her teeth, and throws the binoculars down to the duffel bag below.

This is an exceptionally foolish idea.

_Fuck..._

She’d rather be anywhere else, particularly back home. In her warm bed, holding Catra close to her. Catra, who’s probably wondering where she is...

Adora pushes down the thought, takes a deep breath.

If catching this spy is going to help people, then this is where she belongs.

She can do this. Glimmer might not think so, but she knows different.

Adora steels herself and moves toward the parking garage. She crosses the street carefully, and she’s about twenty five yards from the structure. A soft glow spills from the open entrance, both inviting and foreboding.

She stares at the concrete of the floor, where moments ago her spy was pacing…

Adora draws her weapon, and heads into the parking garage, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks. Hope this one doesn’t hurt _too_ much. Lemme know wha- ah who am I kidding, you’re probably already typing out a comment yelling at me. Sorry. Im sorry. Im trying to remove it
> 
> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cheesybiscuit7) exclusively for She-Ra content! If you wanna support me in any way, you can find some helpful links there, and I’d appreciate it a ton. You might even get a few non-spoiler sneak peeks of what I’m up to next if ya follow ;)
> 
> At the time of posting, this story is just about to cross 10,000 hits, which is absolutely wild. Love you all, and as always your comments and reactions keep me going! Until next week, folks.


	16. all she wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and Adora talk.

**_Adora_ **

Her footsteps echo off of the concrete, reverberating through the cavernous structure.

She moves purposefully, her weapon drawn and her steps slow, measured. There’s not a soul to be seen, and only a handful of cars. Adora rounds a column, emerging onto a new floor of the structure.

She walks a few paces, seeing absolutely no one.

_Fuck, where did she go?_

She’s just beginning to doubt herself when a faint footfall reaches her ears.

She looks to her right, and about a hundred feet away is a woman, walking swiftly to a lone car. She’s facing away from Adora, but she’s wearing a thick coat, and…

_That has to be her, holy shit._

Adora lifts her weapon, aims it at the stranger.

“Hold it right there.”

Her voice rings out clear and full, the only sound populating the open, empty space between them.

The woman goes rigid, comes to a dead halt.

Adora paces closer, her gun trained firmly on her target.

“Turn around, slowly.”

The woman doesn’t move.

“I said, turn around. Move slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

The woman turns.

Her hands are held out in front of her, and she shuffles in a half-circle calmly and deliberately. She’s wrapped tightly in that coat, and just above the buttons is a tumbling mane of silken brown hair and--

“Catra?”

Adora furrows her brow, lowers her gun.

“Catra, what-- What the hell?”

Confusion is written on Catra’s face, but is instantly replaced by a toothy grin, one that lights up her eyes.

“Adora! What uh, what are you-- are you working? Jesus, did I do something wrong? How’d you find me?”

Adora shakes her head, walks closer until they’re about twenty feet apart.

“I uh, yeah, sorry. Fuck… I thought you were… Look, I don’t think it’s safe in here. I don’t have time to explain, but I’m working, and I’m after someone who might be dangerous. What are you doing out here, at this time of night?”

“Oh, I was just uh… someone invited me out for an interview on an article, and it ran late. Just got done, and I was gonna head home. I didn’t know you were still working, everything okay?”

Adora feels relief flood through her, and moves to holster her weapon. She steps forward, finally getting a good look at Catra’s face.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Look, why don’t you--”

There are no freckles.

There are no freckles on Catra’s face.

Where there should be freckles, there is only a smooth expanse of skin.

Adora’s hands still, their task incomplete.

The dull lighting of the parking garage reflects off of Catra’s eyes.

Her matching eyes.

Where there should be an amber eye, there is only blue.

“Adora, what’s uh. What’s going on? Why’d you stop?”

Catra does not have freckles.

Catra does not have mismatched eyes.

In that moment, everything stops.

Adora’s heart ceases to beat.

Her body refuses to move.

Her mind grinds to a halt, a million little thoughts slipping away like nothing at all.

Catra stands before her, altered and foreign.

Looking scared and exhausted.

Looking eerily like the sketch that hangs in the secure room, the sketch that Adora’s spent an uncountable number of hours studying.

The world falls away, and is replaced with a single, immutable fact:

Catra is the KGB spy she’s been chasing for months.

Catra Álvarez is a liar.

Adora reverses her actions, holds her gun out once more.

Adora’s voice is distant to her ears, a dangerous growl like none she’s ever produced.

“Get on the ground, now.”

Catra’s hands, which have laid limp at her sides since she’s turned around, are now back up, held between them like a soft barrier.

Concern is etched on her face.

Fake concern, as Adora knows all too well.

“Adora, what are you-- what are you doing?”

Catra is a spy, and Adora is a fool.

“Get on the ground.” she repeats.

“Adora, I’m not doing anything, not while you have that _gun_ pointed at me, will you just-- look, let’s figure out whatever this--”

“It’s over, Catra.”

Adora’s words are shaky, but they blaze with a fire, deep and full.

“I don’t… what do you--”

“It’s _over,_ Catra. I know.”

Catra holds her hands higher, by her head, in a pleading, pathetic gesture. Her brow is furrowed. When she speaks, her voice is laced with a panic that’s so unlike her.

“Adora…” she says with a tentative step forward. “Please let me expl--”

Anger and betrayal flare up inside of Adora, and her gun is aimed squarely at Catra as she finds herself yelling, “Stop moving, you fucking piece of shit!”

Catra recoils at the words, flinching as though struck. She’s rooted to the spot, not a muscle daring to twitch.

Fear is painted on her face. Her eyes are wider than Adora’s ever seen them, and she trembles slightly.

Adora forces herself to breathe, in and out. In and out.

“You… used me. You… lied about-- about _everything..._ You… you’re the spy. You’re the spy.”

Her voice is no longer the deep, menacing growl it was mere moments ago. Instead, it’s slipped into a high-pitched, breathy tone, desperate and on the verge of shattering.

“W-why… why?” she asks. Her hands shake. Tears cloud her vision.

She needs to know.

Some sick, morbid part of herself needs to know why she’s been used, why everything she’s built her life around is being ripped away from her now.

“Why?”

Catra, with her hands up, still appears terrified. Slowly, bit by bit, her expression slides into resignation. Her eyes shimmer with something unnamed, and finally she spreads her hands wide, palms out.

“I had a job to do…. I had a job to do, Adora.”

Her gaze is apologetic, pleading, desperate. She has nothing more to offer, but Adora _needs_ more.

Adora’s whole world is gone. The woman she loves, now her betrayer.

After everything they’ve been through, she’s just another tool. Another fucking stepping stone.

And Catra is so much more than her girlfriend, her partner, her love…

Adora searches for words to convey this hurt, to convey the biggest grievance she’s ever felt, and she comes up empty-handed.

She opens and closes her mouth, taking small breaths through the tears. The words she does manage to say are nothing compared to the depth of her feelings, but they are all she can think of in this moment. They are at once the truest and simplest sentiment she can find within herself, a cry from her heart to Catra’s.

“You were my best friend.”

At these words, Catra matches Adora’s tears, with twin streams running gently down her face, leaving behind little streaks in the makeup covering those beautiful freckles.

Catra takes a shaky breath of her own, and says something that surprises Adora.

“You were mine too… and you were more.”

Adora’s mind is a blank haze, white noise replacing the swirling, impenetrable mix of emotions that threatens to destroy her. The corner of her brain that’s dedicated to Catra, that’s devoted to her even now, despite this heartbreak, registers Catra’s tears and reflects on how strange that is.

Adora has never seen Catra cry.

Not once in all their time together has Catra shed tears in her presence.

Until now.

This fact causes Adora to stumble internally, hitting some sort of roadblock. She lowers her gun ever so slightly, soaks in Catra’s words.

“More...” Adora mutters, trying so hard to shake off her daze.

Despite everything, Catra gives a chuckle. It’s small and sad and turns almost immediately into a sob, which she attempts to choke down after it escapes her lips. Catra takes a rattling breath, reaches out her hand, a bridge across the distance that separates them.

“Don’t you get it? I love you. I always have. Adora, this wasn’t a lie. You and me, we weren’t a lie. I was never faking. I lied to you about who I was, but I never lied about _this._ I love you, Adora. I know it’s too late for those words… I know, I know and I’m _so_ sorry, I just… you need to know that. You need to hear that, from me.”

A buzzing has overtaken Adora’s every sense.

Catra loves her.

The buzzing clouds her mind, vibrates her body.

After all of this, Catra loves her.

“I don’t… You can’t just do that. You can’t show up here, running away from the FBI, and then say that you love me. You can’t do that to me! How can I believe you? How do I know that’s not just something else to play me, to use me?”

“It’s the truth, Adora.”

“I don’t believe you!” she shouts, as more tears fall freely.

“It doesn’t make it any less true.” Catra retorts softly.

Adora’s legs almost fail her; she’s barely able to keep herself upright.

“How can you do this, Catra? How can you stand here and say that to me, after… after all this? What gives you the right to say you love me, after you’ve been lying to me this whole time? Why shouldn’t…”

Adora hesitates. Her gaze slides from Catra’s pained expression, down to the gun held firmly in her hand.

“Why shouldn’t I just shoot you?”

Catra’s hands are dropped entirely now, hanging loose at her sides, her shoulders slack. She looks defeated. Beaten.

“If you want to kill me, do it. You have every right.”

And then Catra stands there.

Waiting.

Expectant.

Adora looks into her matching eyes, almost wants to throw up at the unfamiliarity. This is…

She imagines she’d like to pull the trigger.

She imagines she wants to.

But she can’t.

And she doesn’t.

Catra looks at her.

She looks back.

It’s silent.

Adora breaks the spell, sobs.

Catra doesn’t step forward, doesn’t make the same mistake again. And yet, there’s a shift in her stance, as though she turns more fully toward Adora. Leans forward, wanting so badly to move. To run to her. To embrace her. Adora shuts out those fantasies, hates how her mind betrays her.

Catra can’t come to her, but still offers something gentle, something almost warm. She begins to speak, her words filling in the gaps in Adora’s mind, willingly ripping herself apart and dissecting herself for Adora’s benefit, for her understanding.

“I need you… I need you to know that I’ve been planning to tell you. For months, now. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I’m sorry… for everything. You don’t deserve this. I’m the horrible one, here. Adora, I… I never wanted to lie to you. You moved in next to me, I m-- I was terrified. I fucked up. I didn’t want to fuck this up and I did. I got caught before I could tear myself free of this shit, and I broke your heart. I can see that. I can see it right now.”

Adora’s lips tremble with unspoken thoughts, longing to say everything at once, but nothing she does can derail Catra’s train of thought, not now.

“I can’t make up for that. Still, no matter what happens, I need you to know it was all real. Every look, every kiss, every time you... made me scream your name… It was all real. Every moment of _us_ was real. And it still is, to me. It matters, to me. And god, Adora… I’m so tired. I’ve been tired all my life. I’m tired of being used, of being this… awful person. I want it to end. I want to be better than that. I wanted to end all of this, and just… be with you. And I was about to.”

Adora has no words, not anymore. Every whisper waiting on her tongue dissolves. Her mouth hangs open and fresh tears find their way down her face as she takes this all in.

It’s so much.

It’s _too_ much.

It’s everything.

And despite it all…

Despite the gun between them, Catra is being vulnerable.

Some far away part of Adora sees that, recognizes it for what it might mean...

“I did all this.. stuff, Adora. I don’t even know why, anymore. It seemed like the right thing. For my co-- for my people. For my _people._ And I kept… doing it. I kept telling myself it was important, lying to myself. I didn’t stop until… you. I stopped because I fell in love with you. I told you once that I was waiting for something to fight for, and I wasn’t lying about that either. Adora, I have _fought_ for you. For _us._ I have been working my ass off to make sure that the fuckers who used me _couldn’t_ use you. Couldn’t touch you. I will explain all of that to you, every detail, if you’ll let me…”

Catra takes a deep breath before continuing.

“You were my mission, and I refused. I… I really have been planning to tell you, for so long. And the only reason I didn’t, was because… because of this. Because of you, now. Because of that gun. And these… f-fucking tears. And because I knew we might not be together anymore. I didn’t tell you, because I was scared of losing you. If nothing else, just know that I’m done with everything, with all of that, with that life. I have been, for a long time.”

Adora wants to believe that it’s true. Every piece of her cries out, reaches out to Catra. It has to be true, because the alternative…

Adora knows the alternative. Has felt it too many times. Knows it too intimately…

And this is so much like those times.

It might be dressed up in spycraft and intrigue, but the only thing that’s making it through to Adora’s brain is that Catra lied to her.

Just like the others lied to her, a promise broken.

_Catra lied to me…_

Adora threatens to shut down, all over again.

But there was one other thing Catra said that got through to her, something that sounded familiar.

_“I didn’t stop until you.”_

Adora absorbs those words, almost wants to blurt, _“Me too!”_

She longs to connect with Catra, knows she’s so close to feeling the warm thrill of mutual discovery.

For one fleeting second, she can imagine they’re back home, talking openly and honestly about their careers, how much they hated it all until they found each other.

But it’s too late for that…

Isn’t it?

She feels that flash of recognition, feels a swelling building in her chest.

The swirl of emotions doesn’t settle, only turns into a storm.

Catra is crying. She’s crying real tears.

Catra wants to abandon her job, for them.

Catra is giving up, for _her._

There’s a stab of hope, bitter and resentful and jaded, but hope nonetheless. It lasts for little more than a split second, but it’s all Adora needs.

She grabs onto that hope, and doesn’t let go.

She has it now, in the palm of her hand.

And she doesn’t know what to do with it.

Things are still broken.

 _She’s_ still broken. This is all… broken.

How can it be put back together?

Adora reverts back to the only thing she’s ever had, at her lowest points.

The only thing she’s ever been able to rely on, in its own fucked-up way.

She doesn’t want to, but in her desperation she turns to what she knows.

Her job.

Her mind works frantically, a clash of disparate thoughts and ideas spiralling into a storm of rage and confusion and residual tenderness and care.

“So help me fix this!” she blurts. “We can _fix_ this. Together. Just, come with me.”

The words tumble out of her mouth on instinct, faith.

“The FBI can protect you. You can… you can get immunity! Tell them what you know, you can exchange information for freedom--”

“We’re never free, Adora.”

The flow of her thoughts is cut off, her inspiration and hope hanging by a thread.

“Catra, what… what else is there? The FBI can keep you safe. The FBI--”

“I don’t _want_ the fucking FBI,” Catra spits, gritting her teeth. “I want _you._ All I ever wanted was you. Why can’t you _see_ that?"

Adora still wants to believe. She’s so close. And yet...

“Because I don’t know another way, Catra! This is all I’ve ever known, this is the only power I have. This is the _only_ thing I know to do that means you’ll… this is the only way to save you, Catra. I have to save you.”

Catra laughs.

She throws back her head in a humorless cackle, a pale imitation of the warmth and life that usually flows through her.

“Save me? I’m already dead, Adora. Getting caught, this is the end of the line. My options are die, or run away. They’ll find me, if I’m with your people. They’ll kill me. But we could… Adora, look at the two of us. Ignore the last-- the last hour. Pretend it never happened. What do we have? And this isn’t rhetorical, look me in the eye and tell me what we have.”

Adora meets Catra’s gaze yet again, and sees fiery determination.

_She’s serious._

“I…”

Adora remembers warm nights alone with Catra. Nights of passion, nights of domesticity. She remembers laughing at the bar, hundreds of times. She remembers the awkward dance of discovering each other’s intentions, how wonderful it felt to finally crash into each other like waves. She remembers forging their bond, growing closer and stronger as the months have passed. She remembers giving that bond away, entrusting part of themselves to her friends, and settling into a perfect routine. She remembers the instant relief at Catra’s support and comfort, her response to Adora’s confused and complicated feelings about gender.

Her reply is a distillation of all of those memories, of all they’ve shared:

“Everything. We have everything.”

“So run away with me!” Catra shouts in response. “Come with _me!_ It doesn’t matter what happens out there, because we already have _everything._ Right here. Forget everyone else. Come with me, Adora. I love you, remember?”

And there’s that word again.

Love.

The word Adora’s never allowed herself to say to Catra, for fear of it not being real.

The word she was about to say to Catra for the first time, perhaps in just a day, or a week.

The word that falters on her lips, because Catra’s now said it freely, and Adora is still unsure of its authenticity.

Every piece of her soul screams for it to be real, screams for her to accept Catra’s invitation, to take her hand and run, run, _run…_

But where would they go? What about her friends? What about her home?

Catra is undeniably right, at least in some part. What they have, or had, together, was all Adora thought she needed...

On the condition that it was real.

But how can she believe? How can she have faith now?

“Catra, I… I want to...”

Catra narrows her eyes, her tear-stained face scrutinizing her, piercing her heart.

“Don’t you dare qualify that. I know you’re going to, I know you. Don’t. I’m begging you, don’t. Just…”

“... But I can’t, Catra. I just… I can’t.”

“Fuck! Adora, why are you like this?!”

“Why am _I_ like-- what does that mean? You’re the fucking liar!”

“You know goddamn well what I mean! You’re playing the hero! You hate your job, but somehow that’s the solution you’re coming up with? There _is_ no perfect solution here, not one that involves staying, certainly not one that involves the FBI. You’re trying to save me, and it just--”

“I’m doing what I _know!”_ Adora shouts. “This is the only thing I can do to keep you alive! I don’t have a choice.”

Apparently this is enough to silence Catra. Her eyes are fixed on Adora, and they communicate so many things. Too many things for Adora to know.

Catra finally speaks, and it’s in a hoarse whisper.

“What did they do to you, Adora?”

Of everything Catra’s said to her tonight, Adora understands this the least. The words bounce off of her, not cutting or piercing like the others have been.

“What… what do you mean?”

“I was like this, too. Once. It wasn’t the patriotism. I never really gave a shit about serving my country, not really. But they made me feel like the job was all I had. All I could rely on. Honestly, for a while that was true. I was a fucking kid, I was _starving,_ I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. They picked me up at my lowest point, and turned me into…”

Catra gestures down at herself in disgust, looks back up at Adora in shame.

“They did the same with you, didn’t they? They turned you into a weapon. I know you hate it, you talk about it enough. You’re not happy in this job, Adora. In this _country._ But they still got to you. Manipulation is their whole thing… Are you really gonna let them control you, control _us?”_

Adora feels a stab of heat. Embarrassment, at being so accurately pinned. Catra always could do that, could read her and know her every thought, seemingly without an ounce of effort. And she’s done it again… or close to it. But Adora feels a surge of anger, of resentment. It swells in her throat, turns to venomous barbs.

“You think I’m being manipulated? This isn’t… this isn’t _my_ fault! Don’t pin this on me, just because I can’t go with you. I’m trying to do what’s right, and you’re… I don’t even know what to think, Catra. Not anymore. I’m done thinking, I _can’t…”_

“So stop thinking, and come with me. Please, Adora…”

Adora resists. Her heart pleads with her not to, but she resists.

She can’t believe Catra. She can’t believe that Catra loves her, not after what she knows.

Nothing else really matters to her, except that. If she believed it, she would go.

But she doesn’t believe it, and she hates herself for it.

And so all she has left is the hope that Catra will survive, that Catra can one day be better off than she is on the run. It’s all Adora has to offer, an olive branch of the highest quality she’s capable of mustering.

And Catra is telling her it’s not enough.

“Catra…” Adora finds herself whispering. “I can’t.”

Catra, whose face has transformed into a mask of determination over the last few minutes, breaks all over again. Tears glisten in her eyes, and her muscles contort into an agonized grimace.

“I already knew you weren’t coming with me,” Catra states plainly.

Adora’s curiosity overtakes her like a wave, and she asks the question she knows she shouldn’t.

“Why?”

Catra gazes at her with the sort of expression Adora imagines on the face of immortals; her eyes and cheeks and brow and lips are all etched with a deep, timeless sorrow, unknowable and untouchable.

“You didn’t say that you love me too.”

Adora shatters.

Gone is all capacity for reason, all facilities of feeling.

She is a numb husk of a person, standing in a parking garage pointing a gun at someone she doesn’t want to be fighting.

She stands, and does nothing.

Catra, so far away, takes a cautious step backward.

Adora doesn’t respond.

Can’t respond.

Catra doesn’t break their eye contact, though shuffles back another pace. And slowly, she turns herself, ripping her gaze from Adora’s, and walks the rest of the way to the only car in sight.

Catra stops at the door of the vehicle, mechanically produces a set of keys, and unlocks the door.

The clinking and scraping reverberate awkwardly through the empty parking structure, barely make it to Adora’s ears.

Catra opens her mouth as though to say something more, but stops herself and lets her gaze fall to the floor. She slides silently inside, and the door slams shut behind her.

Adora watches from about twenty feet away.

The engine roars to life, and Catra backs the car out of its space.

The car moves forward again, and Adora is standing squarely in the path to the exit.

Catra is leaving her.

Or she’s leaving Catra.

She doesn’t know.

She can’t bring herself to hate Catra.

Not now.

She has been betrayed.

Lied to.

Used.

But that part of her, the part dedicated to Catra, still wants her to be safe. It’s why she offered the FBI’s protection in the first place.

Protection that Catra has rejected.

And now the only obstacle between Catra and achieving some semblance of safety is Adora herself.

And with a herculean effort, Adora allows herself to recognize this, to move herself for Catra’s sake.

She lowers her gun, and slowly steps aside.

She can’t look at Catra as she drives past.

She can’t bring herself to do that.

Because that would make it real.

The car passes by, and Adora hears it move up the ramp, almost outside.

She stands for a moment and absorbs the silence.

Adora’s feet instinctively carry her back, out of this stupid concrete prison, where she’s useless and hollow and numb. She rounds the corner, shuffles her way back to the outside world.

One foot after another.

One step at a time.

She’s just about free when she looks up, recognizes that Catra’s car is still here. It’s idling a ways in front of her, waiting by the entrance.

Catra could leave at any time.

But she’s still here.

Adora feels a tugging at her heart.

Feels a renewed effort to do what she could not mere moments ago.

Adora looks up.

Catra is looking right back, through the rear window. She’s staring at Adora not with intensity or malice, but with a soft, vulnerable expression that Adora isn’t sure she can handle.

There’s the barest hint of a smile curving on Catra’s lips, and it’s small, haunting. The look she gives is full of trust and openness that Adora doesn’t feel she deserves.

It’s an undeniably lovely expression, one last beautiful look from the most beautiful person she’s ever known.

It’s a look that’s familiar, one that stirs something deep in her chest, near her heart.

Catra gazes for a moment longer, and turns herself around. And then her car is gone, well and truly.

Adora is left alone.

But the stirring in her chest does not stop.

A memory tears open her heart, reveals itself a moment too late.

Adora knows that look.

Of course she knows it, how could she forget it?

She’s seen it dozens of times, and memorized it, internalized it. It’s the look she associates most with Catra, an intimate admission of some deep, unspoken connection.

It’s the look Catra gave her that night. Their first night together.

And it hits Adora all at once. She knows exactly what that look has always meant, what that unspoken connection really is, understands why she treasured it every time she saw it.

Catra loves her.

Catra really loves her.

Catra has always loved her, just like she said.

Adora is jolted out of her melancholic haze, shocked from her numbness.

Catra loves her!

Feeling floods back into every inch of Adora, and she surges forward, running faster than she ever has before. She bursts forth into the cool air of the night, onto the small street connecting the parking garage to the main roads.

“Catra!!” she calls, emptying her lungs. “Catra, wait!!”

She expects to see taillights, maybe the frame of Catra’s car moving through the night. But there is nothing, no one.

“Catra, come back!!”

Catra loves Adora, and Adora loves her back.

“Catra, I was wrong!” Adora cries, shouting herself hoarse into the bitter wind. “I love you too…”

The silent darkness offers no reply.

She collapses to her knees, and the weight of the world falls upon her, crushes her. The shadows overtake her, and she sobs for all that she has lost.

Adora is alone.

And Catra is gone.


	17. under control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra makes a choice, while Adora deals with the fallout of her actions. The Rezidentura receives a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I profusely apologize for the delay, and also for the cliffhanger.
> 
> Maybe not the cliffhanger as much. It was such fun.
> 
> Enjoy chapter 17!

**_Catra_ **

Right now, Catra is a great many things.

She is dehydrated; the last twelve hours of her life have consisted of running, sweating, screaming, crying, shivering.

She is panicked; despite the myriad layers of emotions clouding her mind, the uniquely constant stress of being hunted has not left her.

She is furious; anger whorls in her frame, runs itself across her skin, crackles with deadly aim as it seeks the maker of her undoing.

But above all else, Catra is disappointed.

Catra is disappointed in Adora.

Contained within this disappointment is something like heartbreak. She almost scoffs. As if the inevitable rending of her two halves, the discovery of her sin, could rightly be labeled tragedy. Adora’s bitter turn, the destruction of her heart just so, has been brought down on her by her own hand, cruelly made into being years ago by a Catra far more ignorant, far more desperate, and far younger than she. Different paths may have been taken along the way, though she can see now they were always parallel and never too far apart. All roads lead here, have always led here.

Catra is a liar, and Adora is not.

Her deception is a blow no matter the delivery, she knows that. But despite it all, she thought perhaps Adora would be able to overcome this obstacle, somehow. Thought Adora stronger of spirit, of mind, of… heart. Does she not love her in return? Is the crux of all this suffering simply that Adora does not feel as deeply for Catra as Catra does for her? Fresh tears prick her eyes at the thought.

After all this shit, after Catra laid herself bare for Adora, put herself at the mercy of her love, her life, her death, she’s not given the dignity of an answer.

Adora hadn’t said that she loved Catra back, and now Catra is adrift, wishing vaguely that Adora had it in her. Had a bit more of a spine. Loved her more fiercely.

Maybe they’d be together now, on the run as a unit, like Catra always dreamed. But she is alone now in this car, cold and so far away.

A new breath penetrates her lungs, seeps into her system. She forces each movement of her diaphragm. Manually willing her body to survive, to keep going. She’s shut down completely in the past, but she won’t allow herself that luxury, not yet.

Underneath that disappointment, her heartbreak, her screaming mind and tormented soul, Catra clings to her rage.

There’s naught to be done about Adora, not anymore. She made her choice, and Catra hers. All she has left is anger, it’s deadly aim made clear in her mind.

She may blame herself for this mess, but some deeper part of her knows the truth. Glimmer did her job today, and probably believed herself right. Adora, for all her stubbornness and stupidity, was faced with impossible odds. Catra, of course, would not have willed this on herself.

No, the pain she now wades through was caused by another entirely.

That fury in her skin, that red in her vision, the shake of her hands, the curse upon her tongue, all receive sustenance from one memory.

 _I’ll kill her,_ Catra had thought, those long hours ago. _I swear on whatever I have left that I’ll kill her._

The words rattle around her skull now, donning new meaning with every passing second, with every searing memory of Adora that refuses to leave her brain, every flash of her smile when she closes her eyes.

Catra has nothing left, and nothing to lose.

Weaver is the cause for this pain, of course. All of her suffering, wrought by one woman. Catra was aware of the motive earlier, was sure of it. Going over her head, showing her up like a fool and refusing an order, it must have been too much. But now, as the dust settles and Catra breathes it in, she _knows._ She feels, with a certainty that hasn’t gripped her in ages, that Weaver is the one behind all of this.

Weaver is the reason Adora is gone.

And as Catra drives out of the city, over the bridge, away from the mess and the hurt, she has one singular goal. Her thoughts swirl together and pass through her head at speeds nearly unheard of, and she drives purposefully forward, forward, _forward._

_I’ll kill that woman, if it’s the last thing I do._

With her target firmly in mind and the route to her destiny little more than muscle memory, Catra simmers in her rage.

Catra feels, more than she ever has.

In the ten minutes between that parking garage and Weaver’s meeting house, Catra sobs, she gasps, she shakes and swears. And when she finally pulls up to that curb, finds herself just outside this house of her nightmares, she shatters her fears like so much glass.

She used to be afraid of these steps, used to see them in her dreams. She used to take a deep breath before approaching this townhouse, used to calm herself so Weaver might not pick at any loose strand of emotion, any insecurity.

In her present fury, Catra abandons it all.

She is not scared of this place, not anymore. And neither is she scared of the woman who waits inside for her, unknowingly become prey.

Catra marches up the steps, wastes no time at the door. Knocking is thrown aside in favor of a well-placed kick near the handle, and the door swings from its frame, granting her entry.

Inside the sparse living area, Weaver sits, a glass of wine in hand and a bored expression on her face even among the commotion.

“You fucking bitch!” Catra finds herself yelling. The words rip from her throat with a ferocity she hadn’t thought herself capable of, even in the context of her loss.

“Ah, it’s you.” Weaver drawls. “I rather hoped you’d be dead by now, though I suppose if you’ve made it out you can be useful to m--”

“Enough!” Catra screams. “I know what you did, and I know why you did it. You fucking…”

Weaver stands now, sets down her wine and drifts to the center of the room menacingly, a look of contemplation on her face, masking something more sinister, Catra suspects.

“You may at least want to step inside, you’re going to wake the neighbors with all that… ruckus.”

But as Weaver says these words, Catra’s already on the move. The door slams shut behind her and she marches straight past Weaver, into the kitchen. Through the red tint of her vision, she grabs at the sharpest knife she can find, wraps her fingers confidently around the handle as she turns heel.

“I don’t suppose you’re here for another assignment? I assume not, given the work ethic you’ve shown lately, you _insolent_ crea--”

Weaver’s words fall short and her eyes widen when she sees Catra marching toward her, sees her intentions clearly in the blade she holds so tightly.

Weaver takes a step back, and launches into yet more berating. “You bitch, you wouldn’t _dare--”_

And her words are cut off as Catra drives herself forward with every ounce of strength she can muster, screams her throat raw as she plunges the knife into Weaver’s gut, pins her to the wall with the force of her anger.

Weaver gasps in surprise, in shock, as if this was all unexpected. As if Catra hasn’t been destined from birth for this disgusting task, hasn’t been molded from a child into a deadly fury.

Red blossoms from the soil of this garden, the seeds of death sown with blade and hand.

Catra tugs sideways, yelling with effort as she feels flesh tear under her. Weaver gives a horrendous howl, pain mingling with surprise.

With another cry, Catra rips the blade from Weaver, watches the old woman collapse without anything to support her limp frame. Blood sputters from her maw as she tries to speak, weak breaths passing through her lips as yet more red gushes from her stomach.

Catra stands over her, panting short breaths through clenched teeth. With a growl, she drops to her knees in front of Weaver, meets the woman’s cruel gaze. A litany of thoughts crowd her tongue, wishing to be strung into words. None pass muster, nothing is able to communicate the depth of Catra’s rage, or the sweetness of her catharsis. She grabs a greasy fistful of Weaver’s hair, slams her unsupported head up against the wall. With nothing left to be spoken, she lifts her knife once more, presses it to Weaver’s twitching throat.

Weaver’s eyes shake with fear, and she chokes out a single word. “No…”

Catra ignores her and draws the blade across soft flesh in one quick, fluid motion. Blood rushes from the wound, sticky and hot, pulsing out in harmony with Weaver’s rapidly fading heartbeat. Catra’s piercing gaze never once leaves Weaver’s.

Spluttering breaths and dull, sick noises of flowing liquid begin to fall away, and the world narrows to just Catra and the light that shines faintly in Weaver’s eyes.

With sensitive ears, Catra listens to the drip of cooling red broth, the satisfying hiss of a death rattle. All the while, drinking in that waning light with an unblinking stare.

A lifetime passes, until finally a life itself passes.

The light fades.

A stillness and a silence falls over everything.

Catra’s shuddering breaths break the spell. She pulls the knife away, lets it clatter to the floor. She releases Weaver’s hair, watches as the now-lifeless head lolls to the side. Catra stands up, and takes a moment to collect herself.

She looks down into a sea of red, pooling and darkening. Catra watches it marble into shadow, and allows herself a moment of reflection.

Twelve.

She’s killed twelve people now.

Dully, she also registers that this is the first time she’s taken a life since meeting Adora.

She shoves down the familiar pang of guilt and disappointment that accompanies thoughts of Adora, and prepares for another pang related to her murderous past. But…

In a different time, recognizing the violence she’s brought into this world might have sent her into a spiral. It might have turned her into a wreck for days and weeks and months, a husk of herself longing for something more.

The same feelings don’t seem to be manifesting themselves now, though. In fact, the thought of what she’s just done is almost a comfort, soothing her aches and fears.

_You’re not a monster._

_But you did just kill one._

Her breathing evens out as she calms, and she finally spares a thought for the woman whose life she’s stolen. She’s spent so long dreaming of this moment, simmering in her determination to break free of this life. In a flash, she remembers every torment, every curse, every blow. Her skin stings with the ghost of a slap, her thoughts shake with the abuses of a lifetime.

And now a limp and broken body is proof that these things need never happen again.

Catra kicks lightly at Weaver’s leg, feels it move without resistance, a blank reminder of her handiwork.

“Good riddance.” she mutters.

She glances down at her hands, stained and calloused.

They don’t shake.

Catra stalks off to the bathroom to scrub herself clean; there’s a new drive inside of her now, temporarily spurred on by her catharsis and her relief.

If she intends to fully leave this life behind, there’s still plenty of work to be done.

* * *

It’s 12:23 when Catra arrives at a safehouse, a reassuring twenty miles from Washington. She parks several blocks from her true destination, and drags herself the rest of the way on foot before collapsing inside, the stresses of the last thirteen hours finally taking their toll.

The safehouse has everything she’ll need to escape this fucking place, this country. Passports, papers, disguises, weapons, cash. It’s all here, waiting for her.

Of course, there’s still the matter of her… employer.

Eluding FBI custody was the first step, and thank goodness she’s made it this far. But if she simply deserts? Goes rogue? What is The Center to do about that?

Catra doesn’t rightfully know, and that scares her. In her panic earlier in the night, she’d thought that maybe assassins would be sent after her. They still might be. Though perhaps The Center, without Weaver to whisper in their ear, will simply let her go, refusing to acknowledge what is already a volatile and highly illegal situation.

Whatever the case, Catra is certain that there can be no peace until she has closure. And to achieve closure, there’s a man Catra needs to talk to, one last time.

Konstantin Arkadyevich. Something of an advocate. A helper. A friend.

Contact will be risky, of course. It always is, judging by his own surveillance team. But is he still being monitored as closely, now that Glimmer and the rest of them know about her? Is he still a priority?

Impossible to say. And it’ll be dangerous to meet for several other reasons. But Catra has an ace up her sleeve. An ace that is currently lying in a pool of blood in a townhouse fourteen miles away.

There will be time for that later. As Catra slides down to the ground, her back pressed against the door, the only thing she can think about is rest. In any other circumstance, she could go for hours, even days more without seeing a wink of sleep. But after her encounter with Adora…

She needs to rest, above all else.

She should probably be getting her ass over the border now, before it becomes impossible to cross through traditional means. But the promise of true closure dangles in front of her, guiding her forward. If she has nothing left to live for, she can at least try living for herself. Dealing with Weaver was a step in the right direction. Getting some sleep and ending this mess will be the second.

With all this in mind, Catra conducts a quick sweep of the safehouse for security’s sake, grabs some water, and then collapses into the bed with an alarm set on her watch. A few hours will do the trick, and then she’ll be ready for another of the longest, most grueling days of her life.

Just a few hours.

* * *

Catra wakes with a start at 9:28 the next morning, beating her backup alarm by two minutes.

 _Old habits…_ she thinks bitterly.

Even more bitter is the cold, unfamiliar bed she finds herself in. A bed that Adora has never occupied, and never will…

But no. She shoves down the thought of Adora, yet again. She tells herself it’s no use thinking that way anymore.

_Adora doesn’t want me._

_Not like I want her._

It offers no relief.

But even still, Catra scrapes together what little motivation she has left, that burgeoning sense of self-worth, a small and gentle thing in the midst of this darkness. She climbs out of bed, and wastes no time in beginning her arduous task.

Re-entering Washington will require an elaborate disguise, one that matches any number of fake passports that have been stashed here for just this kind of use. This isn’t quite as simple as meeting a mark, she’ll need to be truly unrecognizable. Luckily, this place has everything she needs.

Catra makes her way to the safehouse’s laundry room, and promptly slides the dryer aside, revealing a loose grate. It pulls away with little effort, revealing a wealth of gear: A cassette player and pair of headphones rest next to a stack of licence plates; a large duffel bag also inhabits the space, which Catra extracts and places onto a nearby table. Inside are bundles of hundred-dollar bills, medical supplies, clothes, a pouch for papers, and a kit for makeup and wig application.

Catra moves quickly, grabbing the passports and flipping through her options until she settles on one that’s wholly different from her recent disguises. She sets to work with the makeup kit and wigs, taking advantage of a small mirror on the wall.

In no time at all, she’s managed to transform herself completely; her own hair is hidden underneath a dark, shiny bob that matches the picture on her passport. Brenda Neill is her new name, at least for now. Brenda, like many of her other disguises, lacks Catra’s distinctive freckles, and has two warm, brown eyes, achieved with contacts. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses rounds out the look, and Catra dryly thinks she resembles a sexy librarian.

Satisfied with her new look, she searches for proper clothes. A black blouse pairs nicely with a coat that’s much too fancy for her normal tastes, all on a base of black acid wash jeans. It’s not exactly an outfit Catra would throw together herself, but she supposes it’s not too far outside her comfort zone.

With the final details in place, Catra packs up her duffel bag and adds any additional gear as necessary. Her gun returns to her pocket, a familiar and comforting weight in the new clothes.

She takes a moment to fill up some water bottles, and throws some packaged food into the bag for good measure. She takes everything she needs to get across the border and begin a new life; she won’t be returning to the safehouse.

With her duffel bag in tow, Catra makes her way outside. The morning air is cool, returned to the crisp, refreshing bite that Catra prefers over the howling winds of the night before. She reaches the car and stops, taking in her distorted reflection in one of the windows.

It looks nothing like her.

She can’t decide if that pleases her or destroys her.

The duffel bag is tossed into the backseat, and Catra slides behind the wheel. Her new life begins now, and all she has to do is find the one man who might be able to get her out of this mess.

* * *

It’s an hour later, and Catra has made her way into the city. She had expected resistance of some kind, perhaps agents searching for her, checkpoints set up on the roads, _something,_ but no. It seems Washington is as bustling as ever, having completely forgotten about yesterday’s escapades. She takes solace in this fact as she drives through the streets, drawing closer and closer to her destination.

It’s a shot in the dark, really. If this plan doesn’t work, she supposes she’ll be able to find him a different way, one that requires staying in this fucking city for hours longer than she wants to. It’s not an appealing thought, and Catra hopes desperately she won’t have to resort to such measures. Instead, she heads to a place she knows Konstantin Arkadyevich enjoys spending time at: the Georgetown Neighborhood Library.

Catra guesses his visa limits him to places within two miles of the Embassy, and she supposes a library like this is as good a place as any to frequent. She makes her way up Wisconsin Avenue, cursing the traffic as she idles in place yet again. Her free leg jitters, bouncing up and down with nerves. Being in this city again so soon is making her paranoid.

Within a few painstaking minutes, she’s broken free of the traffic to finally reach her destination. She parks nearby and paces swiftly toward the now-familiar brick building. Catra glances at her watch, notes the time. 11:27, good. He might actually be here, if she’s lucky.

Her licorice-colored wig bounces lightly around her neck as she springs up the steps, enters the massive structure.

 _Right…_ she thinks. _Where to start…_

A stakeout is no option now, not with a metaphorical clock ticking menacingly over Catra’s shoulder. The moment she’s inside, she begins a sweep of the ground floor. Weaving in and out of towering shelves, she spares subtle glimpses of each patron, is disappointed by each in turn. An ancient woman paws through the fiction section, while a young boy and his mother search for something nearby. A middle-aged couple lounges in a pair of plush-looking chairs, their noses buried in books and their hands lingering together in the space between them.

With a huff, Catra glides through another aisle, spots a man with a black coat. Is that…?

The hand in her pocket grips a little tighter to her gun, and she pads toward the man cautiously. It’s impossible to tell from the back of his head…

She draws nearer, notices gray flecks in his dark hair, and releases a breath. Konstantin Arkadyevich’s sleek, uniform hair burns in her memory, and she’s disappointed once more. Stride unbroken, she slips past the man and back into the main thoroughfare, stumped. He isn’t on the ground floor. She eyes the staircase, and begins to climb.

On the second floor, Catra’s eyes are drawn immediately to the table of new releases where she first encountered him. He’s absent now, and in his place is an attractive blonde woman, paging eagerly through a hardcover. At the sound of Catra’s footsteps, she turns, and Catra stops in her tracks to stare.

Dark blue eyes meet contact-colored brown, and for the faintest of seconds Catra can imagine.

The blonde hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, but messier and lower than she knows.

The woman’s face is pretty, but with a soft curve that only reminds Catra of the handsome jawline she misses so thoroughly.

The woman blinks and smiles, and Catra realizes her lips are slightly parted.

The moment passes, the spark of her imagination flickers and dulls.

She’s not Adora. Not even close.

She shakes her head imperceptibly and resumes her task, exploring the rest of the floor.

There’s a librarian tending to a cart of books to her right, with nobody else visible. Catra frowns, turns hopefully to the left wing of the building.

More shelves form another maze to comb through, and she starts at the beginning of the alphabet. This section is slightly more crowded, and she moves slowly, absorbing every face and tracking every detail. Nobody remotely matches the man she remembers, and as she looks down another aisle, panic begins to rise in her chest. This aisle is empty, save for a step stool and a half-filled cart. She moves past them quickly, her steps more frantic. Another row of shelves, and--

There.

Shiny, dark hair, a thick winter coat. He’s facing away from her, but she knows it’s him. His silhouette is seared into her mind, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief. But not yet.

She quickly walks forward, footfalls silent as she approaches.

In her pocket, Catra finds her finger on the trigger. She hopes it doesn’t come to that. Without entering his field of view, she sidles up next to him, reaches nonchalantly for the first book she sees.

“Hello again.” she murmurs in a low voice.

His frame stiffens, he stands straighter.

“Why are you here?” he asks, though there is little edge to his voice; he instead sounds concerned.

Catra swallows thickly, takes a breath before continuing. This is it. She can hardly believe her luck that he’s actually _here,_ and now comes the hard part.

“Weaver’s dead. Yesterday’s mess was a setup, orchestrated by her. I got out, and killed her. You should also know, she was a fucking traitor. There are others in The Center she was working with, probably back home. I understand Gorbachev knows who I am. I also understand that you’re loyal, and so you should appreciate my own loyalty. If that means anything at all, pay attention to my next words very carefully.”

She pauses for air, glances around casually to find their aisle clear of other patrons, free from listening ears. Konstantin looks to the side, gives a small nod for her to continue.

“I told you before if something like this happened again, I was finished. I wasn’t lying. I’m done with this life, for good. I’ll kill anyone you send after me, if you’re stupid enough to do it. But if not…”

She trails off, turns herself slightly. Their eyes meet.

“If not, I appreciate what you did for me. With Adora. Thank you, Konstantin Arkadyevich.”

The thought of Adora stabs her heart with a red-hot pain, like it always does. Still, she does not waver as she holds his gaze, defiant and true. A beat passes, before he simply gives a curt nod and turns back to his bookshelf. It’s as much of an answer as she could ever hope for, the closest thing to confirmation. Catra finally exhales as a tension is released, and only now is she aware of her heart thumping in her chest.

She returns her borrowed book to the shelf, and basks in the feeling for a single moment.

It feels… good.

She sets out at a swift pace back through the sprawling shelves, invigorated with new purpose as she erupts from the building, into the refreshingly cool midday breeze. She wastes no time crossing the street, making her way to her car.

She did it.

She actually did it.

Time to get the hell out of here.

For good.

* * *

**_Adora_ **

There’s a hole in Adora’s memory. A blank expanse, colored only with sorrow and grief.

This gap in her recollection prevents her from knowing what, exactly, happened after the parking garage. Did she cry, spilling her heart onto cold pavement? Did she scream, cursing the wind and the sky and herself and the ground and all of it, until her voice was ripped from her throat? Did she do nothing at all, simply boring into the void with the force of her gaze, wallowing in the numbness?

Adora doesn’t know.

She supposes it might have been all three.

All she knows for certain is that she is here, in her house, alone. It is well past midnight, likely around four in the morning. She sits on her bed, with three distinct thoughts running through her mind.

She thinks first of Catra.

Always, Catra. Their parting glance, an impossibly gentle face meant only for her, only for them. She sees it when she closes her eyes. She sees it when her eyes are open. She sees Catra, always.

And then she simmers in every shade of shame, directs it all back to herself. _How?_ she asks. _How could I have been so blinded by fear?_

_How could I let her go?_

_How could I not believe her?_

_How could I not tell her that I…_

And finally, farther away, dulled by the intensity of all the rest, she feels anger. Anger at herself, but also the ones she loves. Adora’s had enough time now to piece together Glimmer’s lie, to understand the reason for the secrecy and the dishonesty. It infuriates her, and she knows that she has been made a fool by those she calls friends.

And so she exists, here, on her bed, the hours passing like a breeze through a field, lightly kissing at her skin, barely touching her body. Adora is almost outside the flow of time, sleep an impossibility and exhaustion pushed aside by adrenaline and this swirling cacophony of pure thought.

Tears occasionally stain her face, sobs shake her frame, but they come and go like the tide. The wave of horrific thought rises until it’s unbearable, elicits a flood, falls back down again. It always tells her the same thing, whispers in her ear that Catra is gone forever. The love of her life, fleeing, never to be seen again.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Adora suspects she may have wretched. She has no memory of this either, though she thinks she can taste the bitterness of bile lingering on her tongue, mingling with the salt of her tears. It all does make her sick, why shouldn’t it make her properly so?

This haze, manifesting for hours in her skull, suddenly dissipates with the sound of knocking at her door.

She freezes for a moment, rigid.

Instinct fills the space left behind, and she gets to her feet. Adora’s body carries her forward, forward, forward, through the silent halls of her house until she stands before the door. She takes stock of the situation, suspects who is outside at this very moment. She reaches for the handle, unlocks the door and swings it inward to reveal…

An exhausted-looking Bow and Glimmer, both clutching radios.

Adora isn’t even sure how to react to the sight of them, and her grief-addled mind takes the worst possible route.

“Go away.”

She spits the words like acid; likely the two harshest she’s ever spoken to her friends, they feel foreign in her mouth. She’s outside herself for this encounter, not quite occupying her body.

“I don’t want to see you. I can’t… see you. Not like this. Not right now.”

Bow and Glimmer share a look, and Adora thinks it’s such a common occurrence she may actually be able to pick up on what their different glances mean. It’s not hard to tell that right now, for instance, they’re concerned about her.

“Listen, we need to talk,” Glimmer opens. “Reed said you disappeared, and… we think there might be a reason for that. Did you… see anything, or… anyone?”

Adora scoffs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I saw Catra. You knew, didn’t you? All that bullshit about protecting someone, you were just trying to spare my feelings while using me as bait.”

Glimmer looks incredulous.

“Bait? Are you kidding me, Adora? Do you have any idea how… how worried we were, and… fuck, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You wanna tell us what the hell even happened?”

Adora raises her voice, feels it scratch against her raw throat.

“Seriously, Glimmer? You want _me_ to tell _you_ what ha-- look, she’s fucking gone, okay? She’s gone and I’m still here and--” Adora’s words catch in her throat, and she finds herself choking back a sob.

Bow immediately moves toward her, places a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, Adora. It’s okay.”

His words are soothing, but Adora weakly bats his hand away.

“No, it’s not okay, you don’t… you don’t understand. I’m never seeing her again. She’s gone forever, and I just… god, she’ll never know about…”

The memories come rushing back, overwhelming and painful like nothing else.

“She told me all about it. Everything. Why she did it. How much she hated it all. And she… fuck, I just…”

She can’t go on, can’t bring herself to say it. When she stumbles on her words, Bow gently pushes her back from the doorway, and they step inside, Glimmer shutting the door behind them. Adora lets herself be moved, can’t do much more. She can only gather herself for what she’s about to say, about to admit out loud.

She’s steered to her couch, and she sits, alongside Bow. Glimmer stands a few paces away, looking reserved.

“Go on.” Bow encourages.

Adora takes a shuddering breath, and dives in.

“Catra told me… she told me that she loves me. And… she asked me to go with her. I wanted to, but I was so _stupid,_ I didn’t believe her when she said she loved me. I just… seeing her like that, without any freckles, I mean… her eyes were the same color, it was… It wasn’t _my_ Catra…”

Tears fall freely now, as she works through the fallout of her recent past.

“And god, I didn’t say it back. Fuck, I was pointing my _gun_ at her, at _Catra,_ and it was all so wrong but I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do, I thought that… I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t go with her, and she just… she left. I left. I let her leave.”

Glimmer opens her mouth to speak, is silenced by Bow’s gesture a moment later.

“Adora, I’m so sorry. That’s… a lot.”

With the information off her chest, Adora remembers some of her anger.

“Yeah, it is a lot. And you made it happen.”

She glares at Glimmer, who looks uncomfortable to be singled out. She huffs before speaking.

“Adora, we.. we did what we did to _protect_ you. I mean, maybe she wasn’t a threat after all, but… Fuck, Adora, we thought she might try to _kill_ you. How were we supposed to… We didn’t want to hurt her, or you. I had to know. And that led us to--”

“You _always_ have to know, don’t you!” Adora interrupts. “I don’t care about any of that shit, anything in her past, what she’s done. I love her, and I still want to be with her, and she’ll never know that, because she’s gone. I mean, you… you chased her, right? And she’s.. On the run, and I’ll never…”

A pained look passes over Glimmer’s features, and she takes a step back.

“I… I’m so sorry, Adora. I’m so sorry…” Glimmer’s voice breaks, wet and breathy and muffled by the occasional sob. "But what if we were right, Adora? What if we were right and she was dangerous? How could I ever forgive myself? How could…”

These words penetrate Adora’s defences, and she flashes back to months and months ago. Glimmer and Bow had been held at gunpoint, by the spy. By… Catra. She recalls that the experience hadn’t gone the way one might predict, but nevertheless, they had reason to believe the s-- that Catra was… deadly.

Adora knows her Catra better than that.

Knows her Catra never wanted anything to do with that.

But in the moment…

Some senses trickle back into her, she regains control of herself just an inch more. Adora understands. She hates it, but she understands.

“Fine.”

The word is almost painful to force out, an admission of… something. But she does it, for the sake of a lingering thought, forming in her brain. A spark of hope.

Glimmer says nothing, looks to Bow. Bow takes Adora’s hand in his own, and squeezes reassuringly. She continues.

“I… understand. You owe me an explanation. Both of you. But… later. I can’t… I don’t think I can handle that, right now. I’m mad. I’m mad at you. But I’m mostly just mad at myself. I can’t _believe_ I didn’t say it back to her. That look in her eyes, she… I’m tired. She’s gone and I’m so, so fucking tired. I know this isn’t over. The Bureau will want to talk about this, I guess, and we’ll all have to answer for… I don’t even know what. But all of that can wait. And it will wait. Because I refuse to be thrown back into that mess after what just happened.”

A quiet settles between the three friends, thick with unspoken words.

And for a long time, nobody says anything. Never before has silence of this length stretched out between them, minutes ticking by as they all simply decompress.

Absorb.

Wait.

Adora finds the silent company does her good. The anger she feels for her friends is almost overridden by the positive, feelings and bonds that are years deeper than her anger, impossible to shake. The connection grounds her by another inch. The thought she’s been having bubbles up inside of her, now closer to fully-formed, closer to words.

“I…” she begins.

Bow and Glimmer snap to look at her, waiting expectantly on her words. She heaves a sigh, doesn’t meet their eager gazes.

“Look… I know I said all that stuff before about… quitting this job. About all of us quitting. And I think… I think now would be the best time to do that. In fact, I know it.”

Another deep breath.

“But… I don’t… I can’t do that. I can’t. I have an idea. It’s… it’s just a small idea, and… This is probably going to sound… going to sound fucking crazy, and dangerous, and I know Catra is… gone, and that this will never work, but--

“You want to find her.” Glimmer cuts her off. “You want to find Catra.”

Adora just nods, her brain scrambling to catch up to what her mouth has said aloud. More tears prick at her eyes, and her voice is shaky as she replies, “I can’t just leave it like this. I have to try. She… she told me she fought for me. For us. And now it’s my turn.”

Bow gives another squeeze to her hand, showing his support.

“Adora, we’re here for whatever you need.”

Glimmer takes a step forward, a defiant look plastered on her face.

“Adora, I am so, so sorry. You get to be mad at me for as long as you want. And I can’t just make up for this with words, but... if you have any idea, any plan, anything at all to… to make this right, we’ll support you. _I’ll_ support you. It’s the least we can do. What… what do you want to do?”

Adora grits her teeth, sets her face with as much bravery as she dares to feel.

“We’re gonna stay on the job. And we’re gonna find Catra. Not for the United States, not for the Bureau. For me.”

She swallows the lump in her throat, bites back the tears, her voice steely and full for the first time all night.

“I’m gonna find Catra, and I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get our life back. I’m gonna find Catra, because she needs to know that I love her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my beta reader, as without your help I would still be in a rut and this chapter would still be incomplete. I hope for you particularly to enjoy this chapter, these words, and my clumsy attempts at flirting. Kissy face, winky face, etc.
> 
> I have a [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/cheesybiscuit7) Give it a follow if you want updates, the occasional sneak peek, or those very silly fake tweets you may have seen. No minors please!
> 
> As always, comments and feedback sustain me. Thank you all for sticking with me through some difficult times, and I wish the best for all of you. Until next week, folks!


	18. we're gonna win in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and her friends work to find Catra as days turn into weeks.

**_Adora_ **

Fiery determination makes for excellent glue.

Mere moments after Adora’s steely declaration, plans and schemes begin to flow between the three friends; a common purpose is all it takes to bind them together, setting aside the hurt they’ve caused one another.

Despite the weight in Adora’s limbs and the scars on her heart, she’s forced to admit that it feels good to be working in tandem with those she loves so deeply.

In fact, it might be the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears all over again.

“Okay, well… if we’re going to do this… we need to cover our asses,” Glimmer is saying. “If we stand any chance at… at keeping our jobs, we’ve gotta lie. A lot. Adora, I know you must be exhausted. I am too. But, let’s come up with a rough working plan for… this. Whatever ‘this’ is. And then you can sleep. If that’s even possible, given… everything. I’m sorry, again. But if you’re dead set on this, then we have your back. Right, Bow?” She gives a hopeful side eye to her companion, who nods enthusiastically.

“Yes. Absolutely. Anything you need, we’re here. Now, where do we start?”

Adora absorbs Glimmer’s words, soaks in the implication.

“I guess… I guess we’ve got to make up a cover story.” Adora says. “And that means clearing me of… letting Catra go. But we don’t want anyone thinking Catra is still in the city. Not if we want permission to search for her out-- out there.” She gestures to the wall, indicating the wider world. “We can always just say she slipped by. I mean… she’s kind of really good at this, obviously. That’s not a stretch.”

Glimmer nods in confirmation, taking mental notes.

“Yeah, that’s good,” she says. “Simple, but believable. Maybe… you saw her at the last second. And… Adora, I know this sucks, but we’re not gonna be able to lie about Catra. Too many agents were here. Staking out her house. She’s the explicit target of this operation, and everyone knows it. The best we can do from here is steer where it goes. Okay?”

A feeling of gratitude blossoms in Adora’s chest at the words, and she’s thankful for Glimmer’s support.

“Yeah, that’s… I mean, it isn’t great. That’s the point. But it’s what we have, and I’m prepared for that.” Adora says.

Glimmer nods again, and then Bow speaks up, his voice gentle.

“You know, we can also… use some creative framing about your relationship with Catra. Maybe you were only ever neighbors. Friends, but that’s the extent of it. They never have to know.”

The thought of the Bureau learning intimate details of her relationship with Catra immediately curls Adora’s lip; there’s an extra punch to her gut when she remembers that using her position to find Catra will be a complete impossibility if they know that she’s gay. She sets her jaw in determination, and wordlessly indicates her understanding.

Glimmer sees this and takes over where Bow left off.

“Right. And since you were ‘friends’ with Catra, and since you saw her leave, maybe... maybe we can swing you a few days off. You’re going to at least need to take tomor-- today, I guess. You really need your rest, Adora.”

Adora can feel a frown on her face. She doesn’t want to stop, not when there’s this drive inside of her. But her muscles ache with a stiffness and a weight that she knows only time can heal. After all, it’s only been a handful of hours since… since she lost Catra. It’ll take time for her body to catch up to her mind. She relents.

“Fine. I don’t like it, but… yeah, you’re right. I’m almost passing out as it is.”

“Okay, got it.” Glimmer says. She pulls a face, taking a breath and grimacing before continuing. “And Adora, I didn’t tell you this before, but… I’m pretty sure our unit has special permissions and authority straight from the President’s office. We have a lot of power here, is what I’m saying. A lot of reach. I think if we do this right… I think we can find her. That’s all I was ever trying to do, in the first place. I was just going to deal for immunity, and get her out of this situation. For both of you. I know that’s not really an option anymore, or... maybe it never was. But this is our option now. We’re gonna win.”

Adora rises from her spot on the couch and surges forward to wrap Glimmer in a crushing hug. A confusing mess of emotions swirls though her, but what prevails is an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Thank you, Glimmer. I need this. Thank you.”

Glimmer squeezes back just as hard, and says into Adora’s shoulder, “Of course. This is what I can do to help, so I will.”

Finally, they release on another, and Glimmer shoots a look at Bow, who smiles back.

“Okay, we have our bases covered for now. Simple lies, that’ll buy us a lot of time. I think we all need our rest, but…” She trails off, and checks her watch. “Shit, it’s five in the morning. God… There’s still agents in the field, and I think I’m gonna power through today and take care of… everything. I am the one in charge of this mess, after all. I’ll call it off and write up a report with everything we’ve just talked about. Adora, rest. I’ll get you that time off no matter what.”

Adora nods weakly, and drops back down onto the couch below. Bow reaches out a hand and rubs a soothing pattern across her back.

“Alright,” he says to Glimmer. “You go take care of that, and I’ll take care of Adora.”

“Right.” Glimmer says, jutting out her jaw. She meets Adora’s eyes once more, and Adora isn’t even sure what to say. She eventually settles for silence, and tries for a small smile. Glimmer tentatively returns the gesture, before turning to the door. A moment later, Adora and Bow are left alone in the quiet house.

They sit on the couch for what feels like hours but is likely only seconds, allowing it to all wash over them.

Neither one speaks, and Adora takes a moment to appreciate the attentive kindness Bow’s friendship has always offered.

Eventually, he breaks the silence with a soft, measured voice.

“Alright, I think it’s time for some rest. Do you need anything, or should I just leave you be?”

With Glimmer gone, Adora quickly realizes Bow is preparing to let her sleep. Preparing to leave her alone.

“No, wait.” she says on instinct. Bow raises an eyebrow, waits for her to continue. “Don’t… don’t leave. Can you… can you stay? I don’t think I could stand being alone, not yet. I can take the loveseat, you can sleep on the couch, just… please.”

Bow’s already soft expression seems to get even softer, and he smiles and nods, watching Adora practically melt with relief.

“Of course I can do that, Adora. I know it can be hard for you to sleep without anyone nearby. It’ll be like high school again!”

Adora can’t help but chuckle at that, remembering the sleepovers the three friends would have in their senior year. They were mostly an excuse for Adora to get away from her foster home for a little while, but that didn’t stop them from having the time of their lives. The memories elicit a tiny smile, and she leans forward to place a small kiss on Bow’s cheek.

“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver, honestly.”

Adora rises from the couch once more, and begins to take off her holster. As she makes her way down to her bedroom, Bow accompanies her, waiting patiently outside of her room as she safely puts away the weapon and changes into something more comfortable. All the while, they converse through the door, recalling days from long ago, days when everything was simple. Days when Adora would laugh alongside Glimmer, the thought of a companion like Catra nothing but a distant hope, a dream.

When they finally make their way back out to the living room, she and Bow talk in low voices about nothing at all and everything in between. Bow’s soothing tone washes over her as he talks about Glimmer, and if she were more coherent, she might hear the fondness in his words. She listens contentedly as she lays in the dark, and interjects occasionally with murmured memories of Catra; not painful like she might expect, but fuel for the fire that burns brightly in her chest.

Adora doesn’t know when exactly she falls asleep. She just feels everything fading away, feels the weight in her bones start to lift.

And as she slips into unconsciousness, she’s dimly aware that this is not the end of her and Catra’s story.

It’s the beginning.

* * *

It’s the next day, sometime around 2:30 in the afternoon.

Adora’s managed an impressive eight hours of sleep in contrast to her usual six, and she feels _radiant._ Of course, Bow had insisted she still take it easy for the rest of the day. She’ll be going in on Friday like normal, unable to resist the siren song of her new goal for more than a day. Bow explained that they’d expected this kind of resistance, which is why they started with two days off before it was inevitably whittled down to one. Adora had smirked, feeling the slightest bit called out by her friends.

And so here she is, lounging once again on her couch. A cup of tea waits nearby on the living room table, and there’s a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Occupying her attention is a dull and bitter process taking place across the street; a black industrial van rests in Catra’s driveway, as about a dozen agents move in and out of her house. They carry with them boxes and boxes of evidence: Catra’s belongings.

Earlier in the day, Bow had gone through Catra’s house and removed any of Adora’s possessions, erasing any trace of her shared life with Catra. It had taken him about an hour, but he insisted he was thorough.

The agents work slowly, and some wander around with gloves. Adora isn’t sure what they’re doing, especially now that they have access to Catra’s fingerprints and records. It doesn’t matter, though. She watches them as she sips her tea, feeling oddly detached.

Perhaps after her surprising amount of rest, her new situation hasn’t yet sunk in. Or maybe she’s just accepted what needs to be done to get Catra back. She isn’t sure.

Whatever the case, the agents toil the day away, wrapped in their coats and looking quite official.

Adora almost laughs dryly when she remembers that the evidence being collected will ultimately be at the disposal of her, Bow, and Glimmer. It’s not like Catra’s possessions will tell her much more than what she already knows.

She can see the boxes being stacked into the van, several of them labeled ‘Catra Álvarez’ and followed by a string of numbers. She sips her tea again, and a cold, unwelcome thought enters her mind.

_Catra Álvarez is probably just a cover._

_Catra’s not actually her name._

_I don’t know Catra’s real name._

_And maybe I never will._

* * *

A little over two weeks pass without much incident.

It’s October now, and the air has a more consistent sting to it as it whips around tightly-drawn coats.

There’s been a definite adjustment period now that their program has an explicit target, but daily operations continue like they always have.

Low-priority surveillance is still placed on Konstantin Burov, mostly just so Adora has something to fall back on when she needs to appear busy. Surveillance teams on Catra are no longer necessary, and instead the team’s resources are used to coordinate with other branches of the Bureau across the country and work closely with agencies like the Border Patrol and most states’ DMV.

The trio has been quick to clarify to all coordinating agencies that identification is the priority here, and that capturing Catra isn’t their intended goal. Adora doesn’t want a repeat of the parking garage, with a cornered Catra. This is all about locating her so that they can mount a personal operation, one that’s low-stakes and communicative. So far, everyone they’ve worked with has been responsive; it’s a weight off of Adora’s shoulders.

Their lies have also gone over well. With nobody else to corroborate Adora’s report, her word is taken at face value like any other agent’s. Their relationship also remains hidden, something that Adora particularly finds herself worrying about. After all, if that’s discovered, then this operation is over in a heartbeat.

Something Adora finds surprising is how boring it all is. In fact, it feels much like their work before, only this time their goal is clearly defined. She guesses that maybe procedural work is just this dull no matter the purpose. Still, she feels good coming to her job every day knowing that they’re working for something she not only believes in, but wants desperately.

Every day, she thinks of Catra. Every night, she dreams of her.

Some nights, though, it’s generous to call them dreams.

Some nights, Adora has nightmares.

And it’s always the same:

She’s in the parking garage.

She’s talking with Catra.

The gun is in her hand.

And when Catra offers to run away together, Adora refuses.

That’s all it is, really. A replay of her past, on a loop that’s never ending.

But this loop is unchangeable. Every time she occupies that space again, occupies her body, she is forced to relieve her memory exactly. She shouts and screams and throws herself forward, longing to embrace Catra, drop her weapon, _kiss_ Catra, but it’s impossible.

It’s impossible, because that’s not what happened in the moment.

And so she watches herself yell, watches herself lie and wear blinders, shut down and revert to an embarrassing dependency, all with the knowledge that this is wrong, that she could have just said she loved Catra too, if only she wasn’t so…

And always, the nightmare ends with Catra gone, and Adora left with a tear-stained face. She knows, every time, just how wrong she was.

The nightmares terrify her, but they also strengthen her resolve.

Last night she was plagued by one such nightmare, and she can feel her skin burn with energy, can almost see the glow of determination that radiates from her skin. It’s intoxicating.

She sits now, in the secure room, weary from the day’s work, almost allowing her mind to wander. Bow sits nearby, filling out some rote paperwork, and Glimmer had been called out for some sort of meeting about twenty minutes ago. It’s near the end of the day, and Adora is growing restless.

She’s just beginning to open her mouth to ask Bow about something trivial when there’s a knock on the door (two slow, two quick, definitely Glimmer), followed by Glimmer herself.

She wears a serious look on her face; this in and of itself is not unusual these days, given the delicate charade they’re participating in, but something in her eyes seems different. Seems… scared.

Adora sits up straighter and Bow snaps to attention as the door swings shut. Glimmer hovers near the door, not looking comfortable enough to sit down.

“Guys?” she says, voice a little shaky. “We have a problem.”

She does not continue.

Adora raises an eyebrow, feeling a bit of panic creep into her own voice as she asks, “What kind of problem?”

“A congressional committee has been formed to investigate the presence of a known Soviet asset on U.S. soil. They’re investigating… us. Catra. All of this.”

* * *

It’s two days later, Wednesday the 15th.

Though they’ve all managed to calm down considerably, a tension still hangs in the air, laces every interaction and meeting and phone call.

It’s the secure room once more, post-lunch. Glimmer has taken to a more consistent eating schedule, and the temperament of afternoon conversations has improved significantly. Riding their wave of determined energy, the trio is discussing what should be done about the upcoming hearings. Glimmer raises her voice in frustration once again.

“I cannot _believe_ they want all three of us to testify. Isn’t it enough we’re even doing this job? I mean, from their perspective, we’re heading up a fucking historic operation here. There hasn’t been a confirmed Soviet agent in the States since, like, Rudolf Abel in the 50s!”

Bow leans forward to interject, “Glimmer, that’s probably _why_ this committee has been formed. This isn’t a criminal investigation, and you know that. They’re doing it so they can feel important, not so they can trip us up and arrest us.”

Beside him, Adora nods and speaks her mind.

“That’s right. I mean, it doesn’t stop me from being nervous, but I know that’s what committees like these are for. I mean, Ward’s been called into a couple hearings like this, right? I know they’re closed-door, but nothing bad happened to him.”

Glimmer doesn’t look all that convinced, but lowers her voice a bit anyway.

“Ugh, fine. I just… I think we need to be prepared, you know? I know we know how to cover our asses backward and forward at this point. I’m not doubting you guys, I’m just doubting… the process. All of it. It’s scary, you know?”

Bow nods in understanding, and says, “Yeah, it is. We’ll be okay, Glimmer.”

A thought sparks in Adora’s brain, something she’s been shoving down for over a month now. Something she’d been hoping to explore, but has been wholly unable to. They need to be prepared… and doesn’t that include trust?

The past few weeks have been an exercise in trust, with Glimmer and Bow devoting themselves completely to Adora’s newest obsession. They prove themselves every single day, working their way back into her good graces with, ironically, lies. Lies told on behalf of her and Catra.

But now, Adora feels a surge of honesty in herself. It’s the same feeling she had right before she confessed to Catra her confusing feelings about gender. That had gone wonderfully, of course, and Adora feels like the same kind of trust might be worth something here, in this situation. Catra said that Bow and Glimmer would understand, and Adora decides there’s no better time to put that to the test.

“Hey guys?” she asks into the silence that’s settled over the room.

Her friends turn to look at her, and she can already see understanding in their eyes, before she’s even begun.

“I figured that if we’re gonna get through these hearings, we’ll need to really trust each other. More than we do now, I mean. We need a united front. And I know we’ve been working at it, and I appreciate that so much. I think it’s going well. But if we’re gonna really trust each other, I guess there’s something I need to tell you? I was going to earlier, like… probably a month and a half ago, wow. Things have obviously been… you know, kind of crazy. So I never really got a chance to tell you.”

Glimmer gives a tiny smile, and says, “Yeah? We’re all ears, Adora.”

Bow nods his support, and Adora takes a deep breath.

“So, for a long time now, I’ve felt… different. I… when I described it to Catra, I said I don’t always feel attached to being a woman. And that’s true. I’ve had some time to think about it, and I know I’m not a man, but I’ve really enjoyed being… more masculine? I mean, Glimmer, you remember when I asked about my hair, right? I’ve just… I don’t really know what this means. It’s still confusing, but I know that I feel different, and I know that I _am_ different. C-Catra always used to call me ‘princess’, and… I told her that sometimes I feel more like a prince. And that’s still the best way I know to describe this. I want to be handsome. I want to cut my hair. I want… I want people to see me that way, sometimes. I’m still Adora, but I’m also… that Adora. I really hope that makes sense. I felt like I should tell you, it’s been on my mind for a while now. I want you to know, because you guys are my best friends. It’s so important to me that you know everything about me, including this.”

Adora finally cuts off, and takes a huge breath, basking in the moment of silence that follows her words.

Bow and Glimmer look at her, then turn to look at each other. A beat passes, and they both break out in huge smiles. Bow giggles a little, and moves forward to give Adora a hug. She lets herself be wrapped in his arms, and looks over his shoulder at Glimmer. There are tears in her eyes.

Bow releases her, and immediately says, “Adora, that’s wonderful!”

“God Adora, that’s amazing!” Glimmer bursts, the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.

Adora is overwhelmed, and isn’t sure how to respond.

Luckily, she doesn’t need to, because Bow asks, “I know it’s probably a lot and you might not know all the answers yet, but is there anything you want us to say differently? Any nicknames or words you like?”

Now Adora can feel tears in her own eyes, and she finds herself nodding.

“Yeah, I, um… wow, sorry it’s just… I still think of myself as just… Adora, you know? It’s just that sometimes I feel a certain way. I guess… gender non-conforming? I don’t know if that completely applies here, but I feel like maybe I’m… gender-neutral. Maybe androgynous, that’s a good word. So I’m not sure about you referring to me any differently, but I might use some different words for myself? I mean, don’t be surprised if I joke around and say I’m one of the guys, or if I call myself a guy. It just… it feels right, sometimes. And hey, if you ever wanna give me compliments for whatever reason, I do like being called handsome. Before Catra… before all of this, Catra said she thought I was handsome.”

Adora smiles at the memory, and Glimmer rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“God, you guys are gross. But… yeah, we can do that. Definitely. I think that’s so exciting, Adora! _I’m_ excited for you. And… I’m really glad you told us. You mean the world to us, and of course we want to know everything in your life. _Especially_ things like this. I mean… fuck, you’re just so gay!”

Adora can’t help but chuckle, feeling some tension ease out of her shoulders and a well of appreciation spring up inside of her.

Bow grins, and says, “Our handsome, gender-neutral best friend. Maybe we can have a boy’s night out!”

Adora has to admit the idea is appealing, joke or not. She agrees to the proposal.

“Thank you guys. Thank you both so much. This is… it’s a lot, you know? And you’re right, Bow, I don’t know all the answers yet, but I’ll work at it for as long as I need. And I want you guys right by my side. Words might change or maybe I’ll think of a better way to describe it all, but no matter what, I want you to know I trust you guys so much. Thank you…”

The three friends move forward instinctively, and envelop one another in a group hug, warm and comfortable and _safe._ They stay there so long that Adora loses track of time, and she finds she doesn’t care one bit.

When they do eventually pull apart, Glimmer and Bow shoot a sheepish look at each other. Adora recognizes it as yet another unspoken conversation, and her suspicions are confirmed a moment later when Bow takes a breath and has a determined look on his face.

“There’s… actually something we need to tell you, too. Or I guess, two somethings. Since we’re trusting each other a little more today... you should know that Glimmer and I are dating. And we have been for a while!”

Glimmer and Bow stare expectantly at Adora, who can only hold back a laugh. She settles for a smirk, and says, “You know, I thought maybe it was something like that. Honestly? Me and Catra had a bet going. Since that dinner party where you three met. Or… I guess… met for the second time, but anyway. Catra said you guys would get together within the month, I said it would take you at least two. I gotta know. Which was it?”

“Are you kidding me, Adora? _That’s_ your reaction to your two best friends dating??” Glimmer half-yells.

Adora releases the laugh she’s been biting back, and says, “Yeah, of course! You think I didn’t notice at least _some_ thing? I mean, it’s been _years_ of tension! I’m just glad y--”

“It was before.” Bow interrupts.

“Sorry, what?” Adora replies.

“Before the dinner party! That’s when we got together.”

“Seriously? God, Catra was right! She asked you point-blank if you were together and you said no!”

“Whoa, it was like… a few _hours_ before, if that!” Glimmer interjects. “We weren’t just going to admit that to a stranger! And _definitely_ not to you, don’t give me that look because you _know_ you would have teased us the whole night. Better for everyone’s sanity to wait.”

“Okay, okay!” Adora laughs. “I guess you’re right. I’m glad you’re together now, you guys obviously make a perfect couple. You said two things, though. What’s the other?”

Bow’s face almost lights up as he says, “Oh! I’m asexual. I’ve known for a while and I’m pretty secure in that, but I’ve never had much reason to bring it up before. But of course, with us,” he gestures to Glimmer, “being together, I figure I’d mention it, just so you don’t get any ideas about teasing us in certain ways. I know how your mind works, and you were probably already thinking of a joke, weren’t you?”

“Maybe…” Adora concedes. And then she giggles, feeling an energy drawing the three of them closer together yet again.

“But thanks for telling me, Bow. Wow, this is… I feel like we just learned so much, you know?”

“Yes!” Glimmer says enthusiastically. “This was a great idea Adora, I feel so… connected, and energized. We can kick this hearing’s _ass,_ I know it.”

Bow smiles and puts one hand on each of their shoulders.

“You’re right, Glimmer. So let’s do this. Best Friends Squad style.”

The three lean in for another hug, and Adora grabs onto this feeling, promising to never let go.

This is how they make it through the hearings, and anything else this job throws at them.

This is how they find Catra; with trust and love.

* * *

The hearings are set to span two days, the 21st and the 22nd of October. 

With Adora, Bow, and Glimmer more determined than ever to succeed, they’ve spent the run-up week going over every possible detail of their cover stories; with a renewed sense of connection, they work flawlessly, bouncing off of one another and sharpening each other’s edges. Adora thinks she hasn’t felt this in sync with her friends in _years._

When the first day of the hearings finally arrives, the trio is tired, but confident. All three are summoned as witnesses, though they aren’t sure who’s going to be called on to testify first.

As it turns out, it’s Glimmer.

Bow and Adora wait outside for what feels like hours. Adora’s leg bounces up and down, and she doodles mindless scribbles onto the small notepad she’s brought along. By hour two, she’s taken to sketching out a figure with short, spiky hair.

Sketching is a skill Adora’s never quite been able to master, and her drawings are rough at best. They’re so rough, in fact, that she’d never brought herself to show any of them to Catra; she only has three or four she’s even remotely proud of, and one is a profoundly embarrassing little notepad sketch of a sleeping Catra. Adora thinks it doesn’t look half bad, but she wasn’t about to show it to her partner just because it was decent. Not that Catra would have made fun of it, of course. Adora isn’t exactly sure why she held back.

Regardless, her idle hands have formed their own workshop out of pencil and paper, drawing short, light strokes across faux canvas. In no time at all, her little figure is complete, and she holds it out to discover it looks an awful lot like… her. With an ultra-short cut that almost completely matches the vision she had in the mirror, all those months ago.

It looks good.

She admires it for a few minutes, before the doors burst open and Glimmer comes trundling out, along with about a dozen other folks, including Ward, their boss. Glimmer rushes forward, looking simultaneously out of breath and tired to the bone.

“God, they took almost an hour alone just to introduce everyone and the topic of interest.” Glimmer huffs. “I _really_ didn’t need to be in there until way later, jeez.”

Bow gives her a hug and directs her to a bench, where they all sit down.

“They didn’t ask much, honestly. Just a lot of background about our year spent working on the case. They’re gonna get into depth after lunch, and Adora, you’re up next. You got this.”

Adora’s leg immediately resumes bouncing as a new kind of nervous energy courses through her.

“Yeah,” she says, “I got this.”

After a lunch break completely devoid of eating, the trio returns to the hearing room, and this time it’s Adora’s turn to break off from the group and enter with the dozen or so others who shuffle inside. She turns back to wink at Bow and Glimmer, and then the doors are being shut.

Adora remembers very little about the inside of the room, besides noticing how remarkably plain it is. A few chairs are set up in two different sections, with a third section separated out for a witness. An aide shows her to the chair, and she notes how strange it is that _this_ is the room housing a discussion of this importance.

National security, given all the pomp and circumstance of a PTA meeting in a dingy Fairfax high school.

The proceedings, similarly, are a blur in Adora’s mind. She hardly even registers when a question is being leveled directly at her. How long has it been, minutes, or hours?

_Shit, what did he ask?_

“I’m sorry sir, nerves are getting the best of me. Can you repeat the question?”

The committee chairman merely raises an eyebrow, and repeats, “Special Agent Gray, is it correct that you’ve been assigned to the FBI’s counterintelligence unit for eleven months now?”

Adora blinks at the question, almost scoffs out loud.

_That’s it? That’s the kind of hard-hitting investigation congressional committees spend their time on?_

“Yes sir, that’s correct.” comes her own voice.

“And in that time, what has your primary goal been, not as a unit but as an individual Agent?”

The rest of the afternoon flies by. The questions are softballs, hardly ever poking at the touchiest subject of them all. There’s only a few towards the end of the day that deal with hard facts like how many times she had contact with a known Soviet agent, and a simple retelling of her actions on the night of the 24th. Nothing she hasn’t handled before.

Before Adora even knows it, day one of the hearing is over.

The next day contains much of the same, and passes in a flash. When it’s all finished, it hardly feels as though anything had even begun in the first place. They’re dismissed in the late afternoon, and given no explicit promise of when the committee’s finding will be made available, if at all.

“I told you that’s how this would go!” Bow is saying. “It’s an ego-boosting fact-finding mission. Even if we’ve covered our asses well enough that nobody would know, I think we didn’t need to. Basic details are all they needed to know, and for any specifics they just consult our reports. We made it through, and it wasn’t even difficult.”

Glimmer agrees with a cheer, and claps Bow on the back.

“You were right, Bow! Ah, I am _so_ glad that’s over. What a bore! Now we can get back to _real_ work.”

Adora chuckles at her friends, and they begin to make their way outside to the parking lot. When the cool October air washes over them, Adora shoves her hands inside her pockets. Her right hand encounters an unfamiliar texture, and she removes it to discover a small piece of paper.

It’s the sketch she drew the first day of the hearing. It’s dog-eared and crinkled from its time spent in her coat, rubbed between two fingers over and over again for luck.

She looks down at the sketch, and despite how rough it is, it’s like looking into a mirror. Adora sees herself perfectly reflected, a version of herself that’s confidently displaying her jaw line, embracing the masculine look of her shorn head.

She makes a decision, and folds up the sketch, returning it to her pocket.

“Hey, Glimmer?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m getting a haircut. Wanna come with?”

* * *

It’s Tuesday.

It’s a very special day.

But before Adora can get home, she’s stuck in the last few minutes of work before it’s reasonable to leave for the day.

She runs a distressed hand through her hair, savoring the new length and how a ponytail isn’t tugging on her scalp anymore. It’s a nice feeling. She half-wonders if Catra would find her even more handsome now.

As she shuffles a few papers and absentmindedly fills out some request forms, her mind wanders just a bit; she allows herself to fully explore the thoughts that come with any idle mention of Catra.

It’s been about a month.

Adora knows she shouldn’t be impatient, not with something like this. Catra is obviously a professional. The best of the best. Finding her is going to take a lot longer than this, particularly with their limited reach.

In fact, the FBI’s reach is something that’s been giving her pause. The FBI has the ability to coordinate with foreign agencies on certain matters, but their influence abroad is… mostly quite pathetic. It’s the CIA, Adora knows, who typically handles matters like this. Twin agencies, for opposite purposes.

Of course, they still have operational authority over the hunt for Catra; the nature of her… specific crimes, namely on U.S. soil, give the FBI the power to investigate. Still, Adora can’t help but worry about the possibility of this investigation being taken away from them. Put into more… capable hands.

It’s not a pleasant thought.

She looks down, and the small stack of request forms is entirely filled out.

Huh.

Within the hour, she’s made it home.

After changing out of her work clothes, she makes her way to the kitchen. Waiting there, on the counter, is a small homemade cupcake. It has a small lathering of frosting on it, but nothing fancy. No sprinkles or patterns, just the right kind of simple.

Today is October 28th.

Adora reaches into a drawer and removes a single candle and a lighter. She places the candle in the exact center of the cupcake, and lights it.

She watches the flicker of the flame, savors the way it burns and sputters in a beautiful dance.

“Happy birthday, Catra.” she whispers to nobody.

“Wherever you are.”

* * *

As it turns out, Adora’s worries of the CIA getting involved in their operation are needless.

By early November, whispers of a scandal involving an arms deal are far-reaching and inescapable.

By November 13th, President Reagan appears on TV in an attempt to dispel the whispers.

The very next day at work, their unit receives a memo that coordination with the CIA will be limited, due to a temporary setback within the agency. It appears the rumors might be true.

By November 25th, the Attorney General announces on TV that the money from weapons sales to Iran were then diverted to Nicaraguan rebels.

The scandal explodes, and is compounded by the firing of Oliver North later in the day.

Adora, Bow, and Glimmer watch as news continues to roll in to their department. When North is fired, all Ward can do is chuckle and walk back into his office.

Adora absorbs the news with little surprise, and simply rolls her eyes. This is exactly the kind of thing that she’s spent her entire career hating, the sort of meddling, arrogant position of the United States with regard to almost all foreign affairs. It’s impossible to escape this sort of thing in the intelligence community, and now, they’re in the thick of it.

Reagan’s obvious attempts to contain the situation with denials and lies only exasperate Adora even further. She’s always hated the man and his administration. This is just one more reason why, and it solidifies her confidence in her recent decisions and actions even further. If she’s betraying this country to get Catra back, she couldn’t care less.

A faint memory worms its way into her head, a sunny afternoon spent lazing in bed with Catra.

They’d spoken of the Soviets, Adora remembers. It’s something she can recognize now as Catra testing the waters. Asking if she hates Russians… or maybe just one Russian.

Either way, she remembers the conversation taking a turn toward Reagan’s less than favorable aspects.

 _“I hate that man.”_ Adora had said.

 _“Ha, me too. Guy’s a piece of shit.”_ Catra had responded.

The thought brings a smile to Adora’s face.

_I hope that wherever you are, you’re getting a kick out of this, Catra._

_I love you._

* * *

It’s a Friday in mid-December, and after work, Adora visits the bar.

Friday nights at Mara’s Place are still a tradition for her, even despite Catra being gone. Adora finds it’s a habit she just can’t shake, and it feels like one of the best ways to keep her connection to Catra alive.

As she approaches the low brick building, dappled with a light snowfall, she can’t help but remember the first time she ever came here. It was just about a year ago, and she’d hoped desperately that it was a date; the months that followed made it quite clear that it was.

She pulls open the heavy door, and is greeted by warm, familiar lighting and the soft sounds of chatter from the patrons. Several people turn to wave at her, and she waves right back.

From the speakers, she hears _Don’t Dream It’s Over_ by Crowded House playing at a comfortable volume, and she hums along as she makes her way to her usual spot at the bar. Henry greets her with a grin, and immediately begins to pour her a drink.

“You know,” he says, “it’s been a while, but I never actually mentioned it. Your hair looks badass.”

Adora grins right back and runs her hand through her hair sheepishly, which is quickly becoming a new nervous habit.

“Thanks, Henry. It was a long time coming, and I love it.”

She takes the drink in front of her, and scans the rest of the bar.

“I miss Catra coming in.” Henry says. “She always livens the place up. Of course, I look forward to Fridays, since you still come by to see me.” He gives a small wink, and Adora gives him a friendly shove.

“Aw, c’mon. All the other regulars not enough for you?”

Henry chuckles as he puts away a few glasses, and replies, “Oh, they’re definitely enough. Just that Miss Álvarez is special, you know?”

Adora nods, and there’s a faint smile on her face.

“Yeah. I know.”

Henry leaves to help a few other customers, and Adora savors her brown ale as the radio switches to a Bruce Springsteen song.

_I’d like to be dancing in the dark too, Bruce._

Unfortunately, her preferred dancing partner is… on temporary leave.

Henry wanders back over to her, and Adora decides to ask a question that’s been on her lips for close to a year.

“So why is it called Mara’s Place, anyway?”

Henry perks up, a fresh smile on his face.

“That’s a good question! I had a friend, quite some time ago. Her name was Mara. She was like my sister, I mean, we knew each other since we were kids. And for as long as I can remember, Mara was completely open about who she loved. She loved girls, and she always did. She was so brave, being out back then. A lot of people hated her, of course. But she also had a lot of wonderful, loyal friends, me included. We were inseparable. That is… until she passed on.”

Adora furrows her brow, reaches out a hand to cover Henry’s.

“I’m so sorry.” she says solemnly. Henry just gives a sad smile.

“It’s okay though, it was just an accident. Nothing horrible, like she always thought it might be. She lived a dangerous life, but in the end, she went out on her own terms. I think she had made peace with it, and I couldn’t stay bitter for long. A year later, I made this place, and named it after her. And as you know very well, it’s a safe place for anyone who needs it. I think it’s what she would have wanted.”

Adora can feel tears prick at her eyes, and she says, “That’s really sweet, Henry. I’m so glad you made this bar, and I bet she would be too.”

Henry nods, the smile on his face a little wider again.

“I think you’re right, Adora. For the first few years of this place, things were a little quiet. I didn’t exactly advertise myself, you know? But people would always come in and say they’d heard about me from someone or other. And for a long time, people would tell me they were a friend of Mara. She made a lot of friends out there, doing what she did. She was really amazing. Anyone who still comes here who knew Mara is bound to be a friend of mine at this point, but sometimes people still come in and tell me, ‘I’m a friend of Mara.’ It lets me know that they’re with us. We get some straight people in here of course, but if anyone says that to me, I know to treat them right. Mara’s legacy lives on, and she’s helped a lot of people.”

Adora nods, feeling a surge of pride for a woman she’s never even met.

“That’s really beautiful. I never would have guessed.”

Henry gives a laugh, and leans in conspiratorially.

“Funny you should ask, to be honest. One of the last people to say that to me was Catra.”

Adora’s eyes widen.

“Are you serious? When did she tell you that?”

“First time she brought you around. I knew what was happening. You sure didn’t though, ha!”

“I thou-- I mean, I hoped that it was a da-- okay, so it _was_ a date. God, she’s such a little shit.”

Adora feels a faint blush on her cheeks, and takes another swig of her ale to distract herself.

“You two had a real connection, right from that first night.” Henry says softly. “It was wonderful to watch. And it still is. I hope you both come back someday, together. Her face never lights up like it does when she’s with you.”

Adora shoots a mock glare at him, and says with a raised eyebrow, “That’s pretty sappy, you know?”

But secretly, she feels a pang of longing. Longing, to make Catra light up like that. Longing, to see Catra throw her head back in laughter, one last time.

And even now, her heart beats just a little faster at the thought that Catra really does want her, and always did.

* * *

It’s January, and Adora is tired.

She’d hoped that by now they would have caught even a trace of Catra, but… nothing.

She really is the best at what she does.

Adora is at home, after another long day of inter-agency paperwork and maintaining a charade of patriotism for a country that wants her dead. She’s exhausted, having had barely enough energy to drag herself inside and flop down on the couch.

Four months of this.

Four months without Catra.

She closes her eyes, simmering in her yearning, her frustration, her sadness. She can feel herself fading away, images of Catra dancing under her eyelids.

Just as she’s about to slip into an undoubtedly nightmare-filled sleep, she’s jolted upright by a shrill sound that echoes throughout the house.

Her phone.

Her phone is ringing.

Adora drags herself to her feet, and shuffles over to the phone.

“Hello?” she answers, her voice slurred with weariness.

But on the other end, there is no reply.

“Hello?” Adora tries again, sounding distinctly less tired.

Still the silence stretches on, the call not yet ended.

There’s a swooping feeling in Adora’s gut, butterflies, or maybe something worse. She feels a lurch, but also a hope. She can’t bring herself to hope, but…

“C… Catra?”

The staticky quiet pervades Adora’s mind, and her heart begins to beat, faster and faster and faster and fa--

“Catra? Is that you?”

There’s a click, and the call ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to clarify something here! Adora in this story is non-binary and transmasc. I chose not to use these words directly because they are (relatively) newer terms that likely would not have existed in the same form in 1986, if at all. A lot of the words we use to describe things like being trans and especially identities like being non-binary sprang up around the early 1990s. Adora and the rest of the BFS are almost on the brink of an explosion of queer thought and terminology relating to trans issues, and relating to a lot of the things Adora in particular is feeling. So I wanted to confirm that despite still using she/her pronouns, Adora is very much transgender and non-binary. Pronouns don’t equal gender, and they don’t determine whether or not someone is non-binary. I hope this was clear through the text, but I wanted to be extra sure to clarify, because this representation is important to get right. Thank you!
> 
> I have a [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/cheesybiscuit7) come hang out and watch me procrastinate in real time. (no minors, please!)
> 
> As always, hope y'all enjoyed this. Comments and feedback are appreciated very much! Until next week, folks.


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